


1986

by captainkippen



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, General Teenage Tomfoolery, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkippen/pseuds/captainkippen
Summary: April, 1986. TJ Kippen's entire life is uprooted when his mother decides to move them from their home in the city out to a middle-of-nowhere town called Shadyside. All TJ wants to do is leave and return to his familiar world... until he meets Cyrus Goodman. In a whirlwind summer, TJ learns that even though falling in love is simple, the price to pay for it is so much worse than he ever could have imagined; what's happened in the past doesn't always stay buried and he can't outrun his fears.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> idk what i'm doing but come hit me up at @captainkippen on tumblr

**Prologue: August, 1986.**

 

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. _ ”

Those are the furious words which ring in his ears as he faces down the barrel of a gun. When being faced with the prospect of death he finds that he is less focused on the fact he is mere seconds away from being ready to be buried six feet under and more on the feeling of regret in which he is deeply entrenched in. 

They say in situations like this that your life flashes before your eyes. Not for him, it doesn’t. For him, it’s just one moment playing on a loop in his head.

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. _ ”

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. _ ”

_ “I wish I’d never met you-” _

He just wishes he could apologise one last time, but he won’t get to.


	2. One

**April, 1986.**

Flashing neon. Pulsing beats. A crowd so dense he can't tell whose sweat belongs to who. They all move as one to the music. TJ doesn't know how long he's been dancing for - long enough to make his feet ache at least - but he doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. Tonight is his last chance to let go like this. He doesn't know when he'll get to come back.

The club is absolutely packed. It had been when he'd arrived a few hours earlier, patrons spilling from the door right out into the street to smoke and chat while they took a breather in the cool night air, and the number of people didn't look like it was going to start dwindling for a while. These kinds of nights were his absolute favourite at the club; ones where there are so many strangers he could just get lost in the sea of bodies without having to worry about bumping into someone he knew. It wasn’t always like this, but tonight he's been lucky. Maybe it’s the universe's way of apologising for what's coming. He doesn't want to think about tomorrow.  
  
Tomorrow brings uncertainty. Tomorrow brings anxiety and dread. Tomorrow, TJ and his mother pack up their life here in the city, shove it all into a rented truck and head for the middle of nowhere to start over with their new life. He could not be less thrilled about it. The thought of leaving everything he’s ever known behind him puts a sick twisting feeling in his stomach. If he dwells on this sensation too long he might actually vomit, so he pushes it from his mind and lets himself get lost in the music. Out on the dancefloor, he lets strangers dressed in bright makeup and glitter wrap their arms around him. They spin him around, buy him drinks and shoot him flirtatious winks from across the room. Unfamiliar faces grin salaciously at him from where they grind against other people. He checks in with the two familiar bartenders, accepts the water they shove at him, then goes back on to the floor and does it all over again. He gets three phone numbers, all scrawled haphazardly across napkins and knows he won’t call them even as he promises to. Tonight is a night for drowning his sorrows in the best way he knows how. He won't remember any of it tomorrow.   


  
*******   


  
In America's West sits a small town named Shadyside. It is exactly the sort of place you would imagine a town named Shadyside to be like. A forty-minute drive from the nearest city, it is made up of a maze of neatly gridded streets, white picket fences and tidy front yards which are tended to by PTA parents and nosy neighbours. It's the kind of place where the rumour mill is the only real form of entertainment and any sort of deviancy is frowned upon. It’s a nuclear family wasteland - Shadyside is TJ's idea of hell. It also happens to be where he and his mom are moving to.   
  
They roll into town early on a Saturday morning in mid-April. TJ’s mother, Laura, has scored a new job at the local salon and TJ himself starts school on Monday. The idea of showing up out of nowhere as the lone new kid, right towards the end of his junior year, is awful. In a place like this everyone's going to know who he is. The other students will already have friends, probably kids they've known their whole lives, and he'll just be on the outside looking in. His mom keeps mentioning how she's sure that he'll assimilate easily, that he's quite good at making friends when he's not putting on the broody face he likes to wear when he hasn't got his way (which is every day at the moment apparently) and that he needs to stop being so overdramatic about everything. He's not fooled. He knows she knows just as well as he does that TJ is not going to fit in here.   
  
He feels his stomach churn as they drive past the vacant school building. It’s a large, sprawling building which has been impeccably looked after ever since being built and glimmers intimidatingly in the early morning sun. In big blocky letters, all the signs outside announce it as   **_'JEFFERSON HIGH'_ ** . It seems to tower like a prison above him. The sick sensation in the pit of his stomach returns.   
  
"Why do we have to be here again?" He says, twisting to face his mother from where he's sprawled out in the passenger seat. She's got her eyes focused on the road, but every so often her gaze flits around like she's taking in the sights too. He knows she’s nervous about the move (even though she’s too stubborn to say anything) and he probably shouldn’t bother her about it, but he has this irrepressible urge to make his displeasure known. Loudly.

She sighs like she’s been expecting it, a hint of warning in her voice as she replies. “Do not start, TJ.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he mutters, folding his arms. “I just don’t understand why I couldn’t have stayed behind with Uncle Jim.”

“Because I’m your parent, not Jim. He has a life outside of us you know. It was good of him to put us up as long as he did, but we need to give him a chance to get back to his own life. Besides, this will be good for both of us. It’s a nice town. The house is in a great neighbourhood and your school is meant to be one of the best in the state. Maybe you’ll actually get some studying done here.”

TJ snorts incredulously and returns his gaze to their surroundings. What she really means by ‘good for both of us’ goes unsaid but he hears it loud and clear anyhow. See, when his mother says ‘this move is a good thing’ or ‘we could both do with the change of scenery TJ’ she means ‘maybe you’ll actually have a chance to get your act together out here instead of continuing the downward spiral you were trapped in back home’. This has been the source of several arguments in the past few months, ever since she announced that they were moving. She thinks TJ was on a bad path back home in the city, he disagrees. So what if he got in trouble a couple of times or skipped a few classes? It’s not like he was going around robbing banks or murdering people. Sometimes he just doesn’t feel like being at school is all… it’s not like he’s missing out on much. Also, there’s nothing wrong with him wanting to have fun with his friends, is there? It’s what teenagers are supposed to do.

When they finally reach the house, TJ’s resentment for Shadyside has solidified itself in his bones. He’s only been here for ten minutes and he’s already had enough of the place. At least three people have gone by walking cats; two of them were on rollerskates. Cats do not belong on leashes and rollerskates belong in the ‘70s. Small town people are freaks.

“Here we are,” his mom says, artificial cheer dripping from her tone. “Home sweet home.”

He looks up at the house as they pull into the driveway and disappointment floods his system immediately. For this, he mentally scolds himself. As mad as he is at his mom for relocating them totally out of the blue for no reason, he can’t be mad at her for doing her best at putting a roof over his head.. You see the problem is that the rest of the street around them is full of large pristine two-storeys with beautiful front porches - the kind of Stepford houses you saw on billboards advertising brand new housing estates - but theirs looks terribly out of place. It’s right at the end of the street, tucked away like the developers were ashamed of it; a crooked old one-floored house built from ageing brown wood. The yard is small and overgrown, a misshapen tin mailbox leans on a post outside like its given up on life and the front steps give the impression that they might not take a person’s weight safely. On the front door, two brass numbers hang lopsidedly identifying it as number twelve Wickers Street.

There’s a line of worry between his mom’s eyes that she can’t hide and she picks at the hem of her skirt as they peer out at it. She knows what he’s thinking. They’ve never been able to afford anything like the rest of the houses on the street and they never will, no matter how many extra hours she picks up at work or odd jobs TJ takes on in his spare time. There are a lot of things that make him angry at his mom, and there’s been even more than unusual lately, but not having enough money has never been one of them. That’s not her fault and he’s well aware of it. He doesn’t know how to reassure her that it’s okay.

It takes them an hour and a half to get all the boxes from the rental and move them into the house (it would’ve taken less time but TJ keeps getting distracted) and the front steps almost prove TJ’s thoughts correct by creaking worryingly every time one of them heads up them into the front door. The inside of the house isn’t much better than the outside with it’s two box-like bedrooms and outdated kitchen. At least, TJ thinks to himself, being on the first floor makes it easy to sneak out. Plus if he ever forgets his key he can probably just climb in through the window. He dumps his bags and boxes in his room and takes it all in. The paint on the walls is greying and cracked, and a rather pathetic-looking fan hangs from the ceiling along with a bare hanging lightbulb. It’s not like sleeping on the couch in Uncle Jim’s a grubby two-bedroom apartment had been the height of luxury, but it had been homely. This house just feels unfamiliar and cold; an unwelcome reminder of his current reality.

When he reemerges to help his mom unpack the stuff for the living room, he’s caught off-guard by the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He peers down the hall and sees his mom standing in the front door chatting to a short brunette woman, much too cheerful for TJ’s own liking, clutching a pie dish.

“-and I just thought I’d bring this over to welcome you to the neighbourhood,” she’s saying, gesturing with the dish. “You’ve been the talk of the town since you bought this house. I don’t think anyone thought it would ever get bought. It’s cherry. I hope you like it.”

“That’s so nice of you,” his mom replies warmly, accepting the dish with care. She juggles it into one arm and holds out her free hand. “Thank you so much. I’m Laura. Laura Kippen. Please come in. Sorry… it’s a little messy. We just got here.”

“Leslie Goodman.” The woman introduces herself as she steps into the house. If she’s bothered by the shabbiness of the place at all she doesn’t show it. “I live down at number four.”

TJ has almost managed to slip back into his room and close the door before his mother calls his name and tells him to come and say hi. He curses inwardly; he is not in the mood to talk to strangers. Especially overexcited peppy neighbours who bake pies and welcome people to neighbourhoods. He just wants to lie down, put his headphones on and listen to the new mixtape Uncle Jim had made for him as a going away present. He was pretty sure ninety per cent of it was just Bon Jovi and Billy Idol because Jim knows him far too well. It’s the perfect soundtrack to mope to. He huffs and drags himself down the hall, forcing a polite smile on to his face. Another fight with his mom over manners isn’t worth it today. He’s too tired for it.

His mom pushes him forward slightly so he’s not lingering behind her when he reaches them. “This is my son, TJ.”

“Oh my goodness,” Says Mrs Goodman as she takes in the sight of him. “Aren’t you just the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen? Welcome to the neighbourhood. I’m Leslie. Are you going to be attending Jefferson High?”

“I guess,” he mumbles.

“You look about my son’s age, actually. Let me guess, you’re a junior?” At TJ’s nod, she claps her hands together in delight. “That’s great. You should look out for Cyrus, I’m sure the two of you will be great friends.”

He resists the urge to scowl. This woman has known him for all of two minutes. She knows nothing about him - he could be a teenage-son murdering maniac for all she knows. He may not have met her son yet, but he’s pretty sure that if he’s anything like his mom they won’t get along at all. Neat do-gooder types don’t tend to gel well with TJ at all. He’s a magnet for trouble and a repellent for pleasantness - she might not know it yet but he is the opposite of the kind of boy she wants her son hanging around with.

“He’ll look out for him,” his mom promises with a smile, nudging TJ sharply.

“Right. I will… I’m just gonna,” he gestures vaguely to the hallway behind him, then turns on his heel and heads back down the way he came and slips into his room again. He shuts the door firmly, but the thin walls do little to keep out any sound it seems.  
  
He can hear his mom say something and Mrs Goodman's resulting muffled laughter floating down the hall and he decides enough is enough.  If his mom has convinced herself that being in Shadyside will suddenly give TJ a personality transplanted then she couldn’t be more wrong. He’s going to get out of this town if it’s the last thing he does. In the meantime, he thinks he’ll liven up Shadyside a bit. The townsfolk could probably use some entertainment. He grabs his backpack, checks he has all his paints, and then slides the window open. It's easy enough to slip out unnoticed.

 

*******

 

Mondays are a nightmare that Cyrus is fairly certain were invented to torment him personally. He’s woken far too early (in his opinion) by the sound of his alarm clock screeching at him and he almost manages to knock it right off his bedside table as he sticks an arm out from his nest of blankets to blindly fumble around until it’s shut off. He groans into his pillow. There’s nothing he’s ever wanted to do less than get up right now. Going back to sleep is not an option though, as his mother’s shrill voice kindly reminds from downstairs two minutes later. Stumbling out of bed groggily he heads for the bathroom. It’s not long until summer break, he reminds himself, and then he can sleep in all he likes.

He stumbles through his morning routine getting ready for school and grabbing breakfast with his parents mindlessly as he thinks about what homework he needs to hand in today. He’s only half listening, more focused on making sure his milk ends up in his cereal bowl and not all over the table, while his mother chatters to Todd, his stepfather, about the latest town gossip. He tends to zone out during these conversations (they make a regular appearance in their household) because as much as he loves gossip he doesn’t see Shadyside’s local happenings as a form of entertainment in the same way that the adults. He’s sure he’ll hear about anything important when he meets his friends to cycle to school in a little while. However, one thing does catch his attention.

“-teenage boy just Cyrus’ age. He seems nice, maybe a little bit troubled… you should’ve seen his shoes, Todd. They looked like somebody had put them through the shredder.”

“What’s this?” Cyrus asks.

His mom turns from where she’s cleaning dishes to smile at him. “Oh, honey. I was just saying that the new neighbours moved in this weekend. I went over and met them while you were studying with the girls. Down at number twelve, it’s a lovely lady and her son. Laura and TJ, I think it was. He’s going to be in your class at school.”

A new kid. Intriguing. They don’t get many new kids at Jefferson. In fact, Cyrus is pretty sure they’ve only had one new kid their age in town his entire life and that was about six years ago. He wonders what TJ is like... if he’ll fall in with their crowd or find some other group to make friends with. An unwanted thought flashes to the forefront of his mind suddenly; _what if he’s cute?_ Cyrus shoves that away forcefully. Those are not the kind of thoughts he should be having, not about boys and especially not at the breakfast table with his family.

 

*******

 

“You need a new bike,” Buffy greets him as she rolls up outside his house. She’s accompanied by Jonah, Andi and Marty, all of whose houses fall before his on the route to school. They’ve been cycling to class together since they were all about ten. It’s the same routine every morning; they arrive, Buffy makes a comment about how Cyrus’ old bike (lovingly named Rusty) is falling apart and he should replace it, then they all make their way to school as slowly as they possibly can while catching up on whatever the latest news is. Marty kicks off this conversation when Cyrus finally manages to mount his saddle and they’re on their way.

“You guys hear we’re getting a new kid at school?” He asks loudly. The others make noises of interest. “Some city guy.”

Sometimes Cyrus is incredibly grateful that his mother is such a notorious gossip because it enables him to add something useful to conversations. This is one of those times. “Yeah, my mom said he and his mom moved in on Saturday,” he pipes up. “They’re down in number twelve.”

“The crummy old crapshack at the end of your street?” Buffy asks. “I thought that place was condemned.”

“It can’t be that bad if they were still able to sell it,” Marty muses. “I wonder what the guy’s like.”

Cyrus thinks about his mom’s comment about TJ’s shoes and elects not to mention it. It’s probably not the kind of thing someone would want other people focusing on when they’re new to town and he knows how snobby some people in Shadyside can be.

“You find out what his name is?” Jonah asks.

“Yeah, TJ. He’s our age, apparently.”

The conversation is derailed and quickly forgotten about as they approach the school. There’s a commotion going on at the East entrance and they all exchange confused looks before hopping off their bikes and rolling them over to see what’s going on. It becomes clear very quickly what the source of the excitement is; it’s unmissable. Somebody has taken it upon themselves to redecorated the bland school wall.

The graffiti is beautiful, not like anything Cyrus has ever seen before. The wall looks like somebody cut a panel straight out of a Marvel comic and blew it up until it was larger than life. Peter Parker’s mischevious masked face looms over them. It’s large, taking up more than half of the bricks in such a way that seems like it’s coming to life, an incredible decoration of assorted reds and blues and blacks.

Jonah grins as he reads the words from it. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

“What does that mean?” Andi asks, curiously.

“It’s Spiderman, y’know… the guy from the comics?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I wonder who did it,” Cyrus muses.

“Somebody with a lot of time on their hands,” Buffy laughs, then turns to Jonah. “Man, your dad is going to be so mad.”

Jonah’s father is a good man but as the Chief of Police in Shadyside, he’s proven himself to be a stern follower of the rules. He chases even the most minor of misdemeanours and has a reputation for cracking down on any sort of vandalism with unmatched vigour. Jonah sighs at this and readjusts the strap of his backpack. The group continue on their way, not wanting to be late for school. As they go Cyrus’ thoughts linger on the graffiti. Nothing like that has ever popped up in Shadyside. It’s a relatively average by-the-book town and after living there his entire life he’s come to expect a certain type of monotonous boredom from it, not vibrant surprise artwork being thrown up on the side of school buildings.

“So you guys are coming to Reed’s party on Friday, right?” Marty asks as they head inside. “‘Cause, y’know, Amber and Libby won’t stop bugging me about it. They really want you there.”

Cyrus groans internally. He’d forgotten all about Reed’s party. Reed Wilson is notorious for hosting the biggest, wildest ragers in their class. He’s also the most obnoxious guy Cyrus has ever met. He’s not a bad person, per se, but he’s loud, flirty and likes to make a lot of dirty jokes that Cyrus never quite understands quick enough then ends up blushing bright red at when he does. The problem is that, in a town of just four thousand people, it’s hard to avoid kids his own age. Especially when they’re on the basketball team with Buffy and Marty, or play baseball with Jonah, or spend copious amounts of time hitting on cheerleaders like Andi and Iris. At Reed’s parties, Cyrus always ends up feeling like the odd man out. Not popular enough to hold court with groups of adoring fans like his friends and never drinking enough to not care about it. He’d rather not go but every time he tries to say no the others bug him about it until he feels bad and caves in. It’s annoying.

“Totally,” Andi says and turns to Jonah. “You think you’ll be able to sneak out?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jonah shrugs. “My dad’s gonna be on duty anyway, so as long as Reed’s neighbours don’t make a noise complaint again we’re probably good.”

“Schweet,” Marty crows. “I’m so excited.”

Cyrus wishes he had Marty’s enthusiasm.

 

*******

 

“Don’t piss anyone off on your first day,” is how TJ’s mom tells him to have a good first day of school as he trudges out the front door that morning. He doesn’t bother to respond, mostly because he is definitely planning to piss a few people off. He probably already has, with his spiderman mural, even if they don’t know that he’s the one responsible for it.

He’s dressed his best in the oversized denim jacket which he’d stolen from his Uncle back at home and decorated with a variety of pins and unevenly sewn on badges. They all either have a rock band on them or vulgar words that his mom has asked him to remove several times ( she continues to do this despite having given up on actually believing he’ll do as she says). His socks are pulled high under his acid-washed jeans and his chucks are as clean as he could get them with all the scuffs and the ugly shredded laces. He may not be aiming to make a good impression, but if he’s going to cause trouble he wants to look good doing it.

The day goes by in a blur. It starts with the Principle, Dr Metcalf, dragging him into his office to sneer disapprovingly at his clothes while simultaneously telling him that Jefferson is a ‘welcoming place’ and they were all ‘so excited to have a fresh face joining them at their school’. TJ made little effort to respond to him or talk to any of the rest of the teachers he came face to face with during the day. It’s surprisingly easy to just fold his arms and broody - it’s all he feels like doing anyway. The same goes for his interactions with most of the student body. He doesn’t actually speak to anyone until towards the end of lunch, at which point all his attempts at angry silence are dashed.

There’s a bulletin board up in the hallway covered in flyers for extracurriculars and clubs. Somehow he finds himself examining the poster for the basketball team pinned up on the wall. He’d been on the team for a while at his old school before things had started going downhill and he’d ended up getting benched for bad grades. It’s actually a game he enjoys a lot. He’s good at it. When he’d played it, his mom would come to every game and smile like she was so proud. He misses being good at things. He misses those smiles.

He’s pulled away from his thoughts by the appearance of someone by his elbow. He turns around to see a smiling girl with a head of bouncing curls looking at him. She’s dressed in a pair of baggy jeans, a set of impressively purple sneakers and a baggy Denver Broncos t-shirt that’s been artfully cut and tied into a crop top. She looks like she could probably take him in a fight and it puts him on edge in an instant. He doesn’t like the feeling of being intimidated.

“You thinking of trying out for the team?” She asks, tone friendly.

He’s well aware that it’s mildly unreasonable to be irked by somebody just trying to be nice, but he is anyway and he can’t help it. He doesn’t want people here to be nice to him. He wants them to go away so he can be left in peace.

“I mean… it’s the end of the year so probably not,” he replies, shifting awkwardly. The idea of joining a team sport in an unfamiliar town sucks. Clearly, his ‘fuck off’ face isn’t working as well as he’d like it to. People in this town are too friendly for their own good.

“Well, I’m sure Coach Rez would be happy to make an exception, seeing as you weren’t here at the beginning of the year for try-outs. If not, there’s always next year. You’re TJ, right? I’m Buffy, team Captain.”

" _You're_ the basketball Captain?" He asks dubiously.

It's amazing how fast her face goes from warm and welcoming to ice cold at his tone. She drops her hand.  
"Yes." There's an implied 'you got a problem with that?' to her words and it glares at him like a big shiny red button that he's itching to press. Even as he responds he knows he's not doing himself any favours, but it's so irresistible.

“But you’re a girl,” he says bluntly. “Shouldn’t the girls have their own team? How do you keep up with the guys?”

He doesn’t know why he says it other than he’s apparently really committed to getting his ass kicked on the first day of school. He remembers his mom’s insistence that he’d be able to make friends and smirks to himself.

“I think you mean ‘how do the guys keep up with me?’” She says.

“No, I definitely meant what I said. You know girls are biologically worse at sports than guys, right? It’s a scientific fact. So like… what did you do to convince them to let you be Captain? You promise everyone car washes in your bikini or something?”

“Oh wow. I was just trying to be nice, but y’know what? I don’t think we need an asshole like you on our team anyway.”

“I wouldn’t want to be on a team so bad they need a girl’s help anyway,” he retorts.

Buffy rolls her eyes and flips him the bird before stalking away with a muttered, “Jerk.”

He watches her stomp away and ignores the niggling feeling of guilty curling in his stomach. His mom would totally kill him if she heard the things he’d just said. He doesn’t think he’s ever spewed that much bullshit before. There’s a brief moment where he considers going after her and apologising, but he stops himself. He doesn’t have time to feel bad about his actions. He won’t be here next year to bother the other students anyway if all goes to plan.

“Don’t mind her,” Comes another voice from behind him. “She’s always a bit… y’know.”

TJ sighs and turns around to find two boys snickering, clearly having watched the whole scene go down. They’re the kind of guys that TJ would probably have spent his time with back at home before… well, before everything. They’re well-dressed, clearly into fashion, and carry themselves in a way that screams ‘athletes!’ The guy who’d spoken is tall, blond and has a deeper voice than it looks like he should. His friend’s brunette hair flops unceremoniously in his face, which is currently stretched out by a goofy grin.

The blonde boy steps forward and extends a hand. “I’m Reed, Reed Wilson, and this is Lester.”

TJ stares at the guy’s hand and then raises an eyebrow at him until he drops it. Despite this, Reed persists with the conversation.

“You’re TJ, right?” TJ nods. “Awesome. I saw you in English class. I sit like three rows behind you.”

“Cool,” TJ replies, tonelessly. Usually, this behaviour tends to make other people sweat slightly. They don’t know how to deal with someone who so obviously does not want to be dealt with, but Reed is either ignoring TJ’s lack of enthusiasm or doesn’t care enough about it to be bothered.

“Anyway, you’re like the hot topic around here at the moment. Did you really tell Dr Metcalf to fuck off this morning?”

He hadn’t and he doesn’t know how there are already rumours about him after one day. At least it goes towards the kind of reputation he wants to build. Maybe if he can convince the students he’s enough of an asshole then the staff will believe it too. His grades will drop. He’ll get kicked out of school. His mom will _have_ to send him back to live with Uncle Jim. Surely, she’ll see that the city is better for him. He’ll make her see.

He doesn’t answer Reed properly, just lifts his shoulder and drops it in a careless shrug. Reed’s grin widens and Lester laughs.

“Awesome,” he says. “Look, here.”

Reed digs through his pocket and pulls out a lurid orange piece of paper, shoving it towards TJ. “I’m having a party on Friday night. You should come.”

TJ has no choice but to take it. Apparently, that’s all the conversation that Reed was looking for because he claps him on the shoulder, tells him he’ll see him Friday, and heads off down the hall with Lester trailing after him. TJ looks at the paper in his hand. It’s a flyer for the party (who makes _flyers_ for a party?). He doesn’t have much time to examine it properly though as the bell goes. He sighs and starts making his way to class.

How did he just get invited to a party when all he’s done all day is ignore and insult people? What kind of backwards place is this town? He thinks about this as he strolls down the corridor, but he’s pulled out of his thoughts by a loud thud. He turns the corner in time to see a burst of papers, pencils and notebooks flying through the air.

 

*******

 

Donnie Seabrook is an asshole and he always has been. Cyrus is forcefully reminded of this on his way to class when he rounds the corner and bumps right into him.

“Watch where you're going, faggot,” Donnie sneers at him as the books in Cyrus’ hands go flying.

Donnie’s been picking on Cyrus where no one else can see it happening since they were in Middle School. He’s six foot two of hotheaded nastiness wrapped in a letterman jacket and regularly surrounded by his football playing cronies. Once, Cyrus had made the mistake of mouthing off when he was angry at Donnie and had literally ended up with his head in a toilet. He has no desire to repeat that experience at all. Fortunately for him, today he doesn’t have to. Donnie’s looming over him and for a moment Cyrus cowers back, wondering if he’s going to get hit, but no punches or shoves come. Donnie steps back, noticing something over Cyrus’ shoulder that suddenly has him looking uncertain, and gestures to his friends.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he mumbles.

Cyrus watches as they walk away in amazement. That has never happened before in his life. Is there a teacher behind him or something? He turns.

Definitely not a teacher.

TJ Kippen is everything and nothing like how people have been describing him all day. He stalks towards Cyrus, an intimidating look in his eyes that immediately makes him fret that he may have picked up another kind of bully just now, but instead of doing anything terrifying like spitting on him (Cyrus isn’t sure why he expects him to) he just leans down and starts picking things up.

It takes him a moment to register what’s going on, then slowly Cyrus unfreezes and crouches down uncertainly to help collect his things from the floor. TJ Kippen, the scary new kid from down the road, is helping him pick up his stuff. How wild.

Up close he doesn’t look as scary as he’s been made out to be over the last few periods. In fact, he’s… kind of handsome. Tall, muscular with bright green eyes and sharp cheekbones. Cyrus can’t stop staring at him, letting his eyes sweep up and down taking everything in. His outfit is a little tatty, but infinitely cooler than Cyrus’ own shorts and polo shirt combination. He swallows loudly. He should not be thinking about these things.

“Here,” TJ says gruffly and shoves a messy pile of notes towards him. Cyrus takes them and they both straighten up.

“Thanks,” Cyrus says carefully. “You didn’t have to do that.”

TJ shrugs. He’s stuffed his hands in his pockets and now he’s just standing there awkwardly looking anywhere but Cyrus. Definitely not as scary as he’s been made out. In fact, he looks less like an axe murderer (as described by Jonah when he’d seen him in home ec earlier) and more like an anxious kid trying to get used to a new school to Cyrus. “‘S not a problem.”

“You’re TJ, right?” A sudden wave of courage washes over him and he sticks his hand out. “I’m Cyrus. You just moved on to the same street as me. I think you’ve met my mom, actually… Leslie? She took you guys some pie on Saturday?”

TJ stares at his hand and for one terrible moment Cyrus is convinced he’s not going to take it, but then he does, albeit a little gingerly, and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you,” he mutters. “It's Goodman, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Cyrus smiles. Then he notices the corner of a bright orange slip of paper poking out from TJ’s pocket and recognises it instantly. Reed’s been handing them out all day in anticipation for the party on Friday night, though Cyrus has no idea why he needs them. Everyone’s already talking about it. He points to it. “Oh, are you going to Reed’s on Friday?”

TJ looks down at his pocket like he’d forgotten the flyer was there and is surprised by its presence. He shrugs. “I dunno… I don’t really know anyone here, so…”

“It would be a great place to meet people,” Cyrus says eagerly. “Make some friends.”

The idea of going to the party seems a lot nicer when he thinks of TJ going. Maybe they could hang out and be awkward in the corner together. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad this time. If Donnie left him alone because of TJ just now maybe he’d do the same at the party.

“Are you going?”

Cyrus nods enthusiastically. “Yep. Reed’s parties are practically famous. Once they called the cops on us there. But! That’s never happened since. You should come. It’ll be good.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” Cyrus says, grinning dopily at him. He swears TJ’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile back. It makes him feel warm down to his toes. Then he takes in the empty halls around them and remembers that he’s late for class. “Oh, I have to go! But… I might see you on Friday then, I guess!”

Yes, Reed’s party seems a lot more promising at the prospect of getting to know the new boy better. Later, when he thinks about it, he can’t stop focusing on how green TJ’s eyes had looked under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. He wonders if he could make him smile properly and then makes a promise to himself that he’s going to at least try.

He doesn’t see the way TJ stares after him as he leaves.

  
  



	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, first of all, I'd like to thank everyone for supporting this fic! Second of all, shout out to the people on tumblr who've helped inspire my writing for this by making me moodboards. I've linked them below.
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> [Character collages ](https://captainkippen.tumblr.com/post/182325498088/1986-collages-the-top-two-are-tj-cyrus-inspired)
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> [Moodboard by @you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus](https://captainkippen.tumblr.com/post/182307429348/a-1980s-tyrus-moodboard-made-by-the-lovely)
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> [Moodboard by @im-trash-bye](https://im-trash-bye.tumblr.com/post/182327368419/for-captainkippen-as-always-click-for-better)
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> [Moodboard by @bittertyrus](https://bittertyrus.tumblr.com/post/182326931877/just-an-80s-moodboard-bc-of-1986-captainkippen)
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> [Moodboard 2 by @bittertyrus](https://bittertyrus.tumblr.com/post/182326620232/moodboard-for-captainkippen-1986)
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>  **TW for this chapter;** homophobic language

From the moment he laid his eyes on him, TJ knew that Cyrus Goodman was going to be a problem. The first thing he took in upon looking at him was just how bright the little red shorts he's wearing were, they made his pastel pink polo shirt look even paler than it should’ve been. His Sperrys were clean white canvas - the complete opposite to TJ's torn up sneakers. Everything about the guy screamed 'boy next door', especially his neatly parted hair and big brown doe eyes. The cautious way he looked at TJ like he wasn’t sure if he was about to bite or not when he leaned down to help him pick up his things made him want to reassure him that he was safe. That he wasn’t going to shove him or steal his stuff.

Yeah. Cyrus Goodman is going to be a big problem.

TJ’s still thinking about him now. Lying on his bed tossing an old baseball up and down while he remembers the sweet smile Cyrus had shot at him when he said he might go to the party - the friendliest look anybody’s given him since his arrival. It’s Friday night now, the party has probably started by now, and TJ still hasn’t decided whether to go or not. The sensible part of his brain is screaming that it’s a terrible idea, the idea of spending an evening surrounded by drunkenly bumbling strangers in an unfamiliar place causes anxiety to spike through him, but there’s a small troublemaking voice in the back of his head that just keeps replaying Cyrus’ words.

_‘It would be a great way to meet people! Make some friends.’_

It’s not so much the idea of making friends that has caught his attention (he has very little desire to befriend anyone in this town - he already has plenty of friends at home), but more the way Cyrus had said it. His tone had been hopeful as if he genuinely wanted TJ to go. It’s been a long time since anybody sounded like they wanted to hang out with TJ. He’s not sure how to process it. Sure, Reed had invited him too, but that had felt more like a party boy increasing the size of his party and had made TJ feel a little like a shiny new toy that everyone would soon get bored with. Cyrus though, Cyrus looked at him like he meant it when he said TJ should come.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he isn’t a little tempted to go just to see Cyrus’ big brown doe eyes again. He’s very cute. He probably shouldn’t dwell on that fact too much though; thoughts like that generally tend to result in him ending up on the wrong end of trouble. If it’s unsafe to think like that back home, then it’s _definitely_ not a good idea in isolated places like this. Cyrus probably isn’t even interested in guys. He comes across as one of those cookie-cutter types that will grow up, go to college, get a good job and marry a beautiful girl. He’ll probably be voted most likely to succeed or something in the yearbook. It had taken TJ a little less than a minute to come to this conclusion after first seeing him.

That hopeful look in Cyrus’ eyes haunts him. The clock tells him it’s eleven thirty-two. A bright orange flyer glares at him from where he’s dropped in on his desk.

He sighs, heaves himself up and resigns himself to a night of bad decisions as he heads out to grab the car keys from the bowl on the coffee table. His mom won’t mind him taking them, she’s asleep now anyway, she’ll probably be glad he’s socialising.

 

*******

 

Reed’s house sits at the end of one of the nicest streets in Shadyside. It’s the largest of its kind in the area, and to high school kids who have never been anywhere else, it almost seems like a mansion. It’s a newly built sprawling stone monstrosity, out of place in a town full of carefully painted white wooden constructions, meticulously planned and brought to life by Mr Ronald Wilson, Reed’s father and a rather wealthy property developer. Due to his job involving regular business trips around the country, Mr Wilson is often out of town. He usually takes his wife, Sharon, meaning that the two of them are either incredibly oblivious or willfully ignorant to the way they are leaving their son to light up the neighbourhood with increasingly uproarious parties. Cyrus figures it’s probably the second option - the Wilsons have enough money that if Reed gets in trouble with the local police department for disturbing the peace it makes little to no impact on them.

Tonight’s party has taken it to a truly impressive level. It feels like every kid in school must have shown up. Reed’s recently acquired a brand new stereo system; all bulky speakers, a sleek modern turntable and a receiver covered in a baffling number of buttons and nobs. He’s been proudly showing it off all night in the boastful tone that Cyrus detests a little bit even if he won’t admit it out loud (that would be impolite, especially as Reed’s the host). It makes the music boom through the house at a spectacular volume and there’s a pile on the side of various records people have brought, all diligently labelled with whom they belong to.

At the moment, Take On Me is blaring through the speakers much to the delight of several alarmingly drunk girls dancing in the living room. Cyrus’ smiles as he watches them and sips from his cup, forcing himself not to wrinkle his nose at the taste of lukewarm beer. He can imagine Jonah’s face right now, probably scrunched up in irritation - he hates a-ha with a burning passion and this song always starts him off on rants about how it’s not real music. Unfortunately, he isn’t there for Cyrus to experience that right now because he, like all of the rest of his friends, has abandoned him on the couch to sit uncomfortable and bored by himself. The room is heavy with smoke and if one more person fixes their hair in the living room rather than the bathroom Cyrus might be forced to throw all the hairspray into the pool outside because it’s making the whole place stink. He could go and find his friends maybe, instead of sitting and moping, but wading through the crush of drunk teenagers only to get ignored while the others make out with their various partners just doesn’t really seem worth it. Besides, from where he’s sat he has a perfect view of the front door and he’s worried that if he moves he won’t see TJ arrive.

If he ever arrives. Cyrus checks his watch again. It’s already near midnight and there’s been no sign of him.

He’s unsure as to why he’s so bothered over whether he shows up or not. They’ve only ever had one conversation and even he has to admit it wasn’t exactly anything groundbreaking, but there’s something about TJ that tells Cyrus they could be great friends even if they have only met once. As many of his friends could vouch for him, his hunches about these kinds of things are rarely wrong. Though… he hasn’t actually mentioned this particular hunch this to the others yet. He’d learned during the week that Buffy had had a run in with TJ that had been a whole lot less pleasant than Cyrus’. This probably should’ve flashed up a warning sign to him to stay away but instead, it had made Cyrus more curious. He wondered if TJ actually believed the things he’d said - if he did Cyrus would ditch him in a minute of course (his loyalty to Buffy and Andi runs deeper than anything) - or if maybe there was something more to it. Buffy and Jonah had both said TJ was making it pretty clear he didn’t want to be here… maybe there’s a deeper reason for that. Maybe he’s just adjusting to a new environment. It can’t be easy to switch schools and move somewhere new right at the end of the school year, right?

He thinks about the way TJ had seemed intimidating at first in the hallway but had gone on to surprise him by helping him out. Surely he couldn’t be all that bad?

By eleven fifty, Cyrus starts to give up on waiting. If he hasn’t shown by now he’s not going to. He tries to tamp down the twinging disappointment inside of him. He should not care this much about a boy he just met for two seconds. It’s not as if he had high hopes for this party in the first place anyway. Still debating whether to find the others to let them know he’s going (he’s not sure that they’ll even notice if he just slips out) Cyrus suddenly spots a familiar hulking figure talking to a couple of girls on the other side of the room.

Donnie.

Right, that’s it. He’s definitely leaving. If he turns around and spots him then Cyrus will be dead meat and a night of stale beer and boredom is definitely not worth losing his life over. He puts his beer down on one of the living room tables, grabs his jacket and flees as subtly as he can from the room. Getting out of the house is a relief; the fresh air tastes like freedom.

The relief quickly disappears when he remembers that Jonah drove them here in his dad’s old beat up station wagon. He closes his eyes and asks that the Lord have mercy on him for five minutes at least, but no miracle ride home appears. He sighs and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He’s going to have to walk home.

At least it’s not raining.

 

*******

 

It starts to rain while TJ is still driving. For a small town, Shadyside is surprisingly hard to navigate. There are a good ten minutes during which he drives in a circle at least three times and convinces himself the town itself has come to life to fuck with him, but then he finds the turning he’s meant to take and frees himself from the cycle of frustration. By the time he manages that his hands are clenched tightly around the wheel and he’s grinding his teeth in impatience, something his mom likes to tell him off for. He knew this was a stupid idea.

He’s all set to turn around and head home, giving up on the idea of ever finding Reed’s house, when he spots a familiar figure walking down the side of the main road through the blurry windscreen. He frowns and drives up beside him, rolling the window down and slowly to match his pace.

“Goodman?” He calls, half leaning out to squint through the rain. It’s coming down heavy, big fat drops of water hitting the pavement and pounding the car fast enough that the squeaking wipers on the car aren’t quite able to keep up with it.

Cyrus jumps and turns around like a startled deer. He’s the picture perfect definition of pathetic right now, arms huddled around him and shuddering, khaki pants and polo shirt completely soaked through.

“TJ?” He says incredulously. TJ rolls to a stop and he approaches the window cautiously as if TJ might be some kind of trickster creature disguised as a means of kidnapping him.

“What the hell are you doing out here in this weather?” TJ asks. “I thought you were at that party. Jesus, you’re soaked… get in.”

Cyrus doesn’t even hesitate before heading around the front of the car and tugging open the passenger door. He slides in with a grateful look on his face but it’s impossible for TJ to miss the way his teeth chatter. He frowns and reaches across to the backseat - his mom started keeping spare changes of clothes for him there when he was about eight because TJ has been and always will be a menace who manages to tear and ruin clothes on the regular. He finds what he’s looking for and thrusts it towards Cyrus.

“Here, put this on. I don’t have any spare pants, sorry.”

Cyrus eyeballs the shirt for a moment as if it might be some kind of venomous snake and then takes, shaking it out to take a good look at it. It’s one of TJ’s faded AC/DC shirts - he’d bought it when Uncle Jim had taken him to the _Back In Black_ tour in ‘82 - it doesn’t really fit him anymore, it strains too much from where he’s had at least two growth spurts and put on muscle over the years, but Cyrus has a slight enough frame that it should fit him like a glove.

“Thanks,” he says and moves to pull off his current jacket and shirt. TJ averts his eyes and focuses on rolling up the window. He doesn’t want to flood the car, after all. There’s a small part of him wondering how he’s managed to get himself into a situation where a cute straightlaced boy like Cyrus Goodman (who’s he’s met a grand total of two times now) is sitting in his passenger seat putting on one of his t-shirts.

“So why aren’t you at the party?” He asks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as Cyrus straightens himself out.

“It got too crowded… what’s your excuse?”

“I never said I was going.”

“You said you’d think about it.”

“I thought about. I made the executive decision not to go,” he elects to leave out the part about being on his way there.

“No duh,” Cyrus says. “I figured as much when I didn’t see you there.”

TJ raises his eyebrows at him in surprise. “You were looking for me?”

“No.” It sounds like a lie. “I just think I would’ve noticed you there is all. And I didn’t.”

He relishes the idea that Cyrus had been looking for him and smirks. “Why do you care so much anyway? Don’t you have any friends to hang out with?”

Cyrus shrugs. “It’s always nice to make new friends, but I hear that’s not exactly in your skillset?”

“Oh?”

“I’m friends with Buffy Driscoll.”

He recognises the name but struggles coming up with a face to match it. Cyrus must spot his blank expression because he sighs.

“Buffy, Captain of the basketball team? You insulted her the other day. She was really mad about it.”

_Oh._

TJ rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable under Cyrus’ suddenly piercing gaze. He feels like he’s being tested now. One wrong word and Cyrus will be gone, disappearing like he never talked to him in the first place.

“I was kind of a dick,” he says, unsure of how to explain himself. He can’t defend his actions. He knows what he said and how he said it and he knows it was wrong, but that doesn’t change the fact he still did it.

“Kind of? She said you implied girls were bad at sports.”

“Implied? I didn’t imply it. I said it.”

A tense beat of silence goes by and TJ gets the feeling he’s about to be berated. He prepares himself to be called a jerk, an asshole, to go to hell, but Cyrus just leans back and brushes his hair out of his face with an exasperated sigh.

Then he throws TJ a complete curveball.

“Did you actually mean it?” He asks. “Did you actually mean what you said or was it some kind of weird way to… I don’t know? Get attention?”

He should be offended by that. He should be annoyed that Cyrus basically just called him an attention-seeker. He should jump on the defence, tell him to fuck off and get out of his car, drive away and leave him stranded in the rain. But… he knows that would all be pointless because he’s the one in the wrong here and with the way Cyrus says those words they feel less accusatory and more like he’s just trying to understand what’s going on in TJ’s head. Like he’s actually listening.

At some point during the two short interactions they’ve had, TJ’s subconscious made the decision that this boy is trustworthy and he doesn’t know why. For the first time in a very long while, he feels like he has somebody he can talk to.

This is ridiculous. They barely know each other.

He tells him anyway.

 

*******

 

“So what you’re saying is you think if you make enough people here angry your mom might send you back home?” Cyrus asks in disbelief. He hadn’t expected the torrent of words that came flooding from TJ’s mouth. It’s almost twelve thirty and he and TJ are still parked by the side of the road listening to the rain come down against the glass and metal. There’s some angry sounding rock music coming from the car’s tape player but TJ’s tuned it down low so they can talk properly and he’s just spent the last half an hour explaining that his mom up and moved them without any warning and how he’s dealing with in what is (in Cyrus’ opinion) the worst way possible maybe. “No offence, TJ, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You should apologise to Buffy.”

“I know,” TJ says, looking away. “I know. You’re right. I’ll apologise to her.”

Satisfied, Cyrus leans back and replaces the stern look on his face with an open friendly one. Buffy and Andi often tell him that his habit of being able to do this reminds them of their parents when they’ve done something to make them mad - he hopes he isn’t crossing a line talking to TJ like this but he  knew he wouldn’t be able to move on until he was sure he wasn’t going to continue being a jerk to his friends. If he’s completely honest with himself now he doesn’t know why he’s giving TJ a second chance, especially after what he said to Buffy, but something about the guy intrigues him. He doesn’t seem like he’s genuinely a nasty person, it’s more like he’s putting on a front, and this belief is only reinforced by the t-shirt Cyrus is currently wearing.

It’s warm, soft and dry and it gives off the faint scent of cheap laundry detergent and lingering men’s deodorant. TJ had ordered him into the car and handed it over without a second thought, so unless he’s a murderer and planning to make Cyrus his next victim then Cyrus is pretty confident that he’s a good guy. It’s possible that he just needs somebody to listen to him; it must be pretty lonely being surrounded by people who don’t know anything about who you really are.

Cyrus thinks he knows the feeling.

“Mind if I smoke?” TJ asks then, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

He shrugs. “It’s your car.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he responds even as he’s fumbling to pull one out of the packet. Cyrus watches as he does it, long slender fingers sliding it out and placing it between his lips. He notices the faded splotches of colour that stain his skin, the edges of his nails a rainbow that he couldn’t quite wash away. Paint. His mind flashes back to the mural that the school janitors had been so desperately scrubbing from the wall.

_“With great power comes great responsibility.”_

He smiles to himself. Good to know that TJ Kippen is a comic book nerd.

“You know those are s’posed to give you cancer,” he says as TJ lifts the lighter to the cigarette and cups the flame. “And they make your hair and teeth and nails go all gross. It’s really bad for you.”

TJ raises an eyebrow. “You sound like an after-school special,” he says. He takes one puff and blows it out the window, then puts the cigarette out.

“Better?” He asks.

Cyrus isn’t quite sure what he expected. He thought maybe TJ would laugh at his words. He didn’t think he’d take him seriously.

“Better,” he agrees, unsure of what else to do but nod. TJ’s answering smile pulls dangerously at something in Cyrus’ chest and he forces himself to look away. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

They look at one another for a moment; time seems suspended in the low light of the car. The windows are steaming up from the weather and the song on the tape drifts lazily through the atmosphere. For a moment, he thinks TJ is about to say something. He opens his mouth, a curious expression on his face, then sighs and turns to face the wheel again.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home,” TJ says.

He tries not to feel disappointed.

 

*******

 

_Footsteps. Careless, storming footsteps that thunder their way up the stairs. The sound of wood splintering as the door crashes into the wall too hard when it is thrown up. Glass breaking. Raised voices. Crying. Pleading._

_Hiding under the table, shaking. Holding back a shuddering sob. Scared to breathe in case… just in case he’s too loud._

_Sirens._

TJ wakes up tangled in his bedsheets and drenched a cold sweat. It takes him a few minutes to regain full consciousness and stop thrashing and then he lies still and stares at the dark ceiling, panting. He’s safe, he reminds himself, he’s safe and in his bedroom and it’s nineteen eighty-six and nothing is going to hurt him. He sits up and turns his bedside lamp on. The room is empty. The door is closed. He is alone.

He is safe.

The nightmares have been happening ever since he can remember. The same few like to reoccur on a regular basis, particularly when he’s stressed. Sometimes they get so bad he thinks they might consume him entirely, like in his sleep he could be pulled under by his subconscious and he’ll never wake up from it. It’s an awful feeling. It weighs on his chest like he’s being pressed to the ground under somebody’s foot.

He thinks about grabbing his sketchbook to calm himself down but knows that if he starts drawing now he won’t stop until the sun comes up and the idea of falling asleep at school is terrible. His nightmares are better kept where no one else can see them. Instead, he turns off the lamp again, rolls over and tries to think about pleasant things. The sound a spray can makes as he paints the world, the taste of  Uncle Jim’s cherry pie, Jon Bon Jovi… Cyrus’ Goodman’s smile. It lessens the feeling of unease but doesn’t remove it completely.

It takes him a long while to get back to sleep - the sound of glass breaking echoing in the back of his mind.

 

*******

 

As expected, school doesn’t get much better for TJ. However, it does now pose an added element of interest for him in the form of one skinny and bright-eyed Cyrus Goodman. It’s slightly bizarre, the way that TJ looks forward to watching Cyrus sneak him quick smiles and waves when his friends have their backs turned, he doesn’t know why the guy is bothering. It’s funny how much of an incentive to go to class that those tiny interactions bring him - the added chance of seeing him in the halls is just too good to pass up. TJ never waves back but his does quirk his eyebrow a few times. Anyone else would’ve given up trying to socialise with him by now, hell… most of the upperclassmen already have and nobody talks to him in class other than the teachers who haven’t stopped trying to get him to answer questions yet, but not Cyrus. It’s baffling.

He kind of hates how much he likes that smile.

Despite the desire to stay in school that Cyrus has miraculously instilled in TJ, it doesn’t stop him from running into problems. Trouble seems to follow TJ wherever he goes. Sometimes he thinks he might be cursed; other times he goes looking for it. Today, it’s the latter.

It has been, to put it politely, an absolutely _shit_ day as far as he’s concerned. This morning started off fine and then slowly descended into madness. He got up and ready for school without hassle, made the walk in time and even went to homeroom, but it was downhill from there. He hadn’t done the homework for first-period math (whoever scheduled math class that early in the morning is an absolute demon and can go to hell) and got a detention for it. The most upsetting thing about it for him is that it wasn’t that he didn’t try, he actually had sat down and taken a look at it, but math has always been a source of confusion for him and moving to Shadyside has not magically altered that fact. He’d spent ten minutes trying to understand it and almost flipped the kitchen table so he’d ended up giving up. Now he’s being punished for it.

That’s just the first straw.

Things got worse when he ran into Dr Metcalf in the hall. After surveying TJ’s outfit he had announced (loudly) that torn and ripped clothing was against the dress code. The problem with that for TJ is that the majority of his clothes have tears in them - not for fashion reasons but because he and his mom are both particularly awful and here they don’t have Uncle Jim to fix things up for them. All of his jeans have at least one hole in them and he can’t really afford a new pair at the moment. Getting written up for it in front of his smirking classmates was one part infuriating two parts humiliating. He still doesn’t understand what the big deal is. They’re just jeans. They’re not impeding on his ability to learn at all, the only thing doing that is his own brain.

That’s the second straw.

The final straw comes at lunch. He’s sat in the cafeteria, more picking at the food on his tray than actually eating it (he doesn’t trust the school’s chicken nuggets and he’s not sure he believes they’re actually made of chicken) and stealing glances at the opposite corner of the room. His table is perfect because not only is in its own corner where people leave him alone, though he’s not sure if that’s more down to the positioning of it or his general fuck-off demeanour, but also because it gives him the perfect vantage point to watch Cyrus and his friends where they usually sit.

It would probably be creepy of him, but Cyrus very obviously knows he’s there. They keep making eye contact. The problem is that the other people sat with him have also realised TJ is there and the looks they give him are not nearly as friendly. He sighs to himself and wonders what it would be like to be sat with a group, laughing and fooling around and sharing pieces of their lunch. It’s been a long time since he experienced the camaraderie that Cyrus seems to be surrounded by at all times.

 

He should really apologise to Buffy. The problem is he’s not sure how. He’s been trying to work up the nerve to go and talk to her but she’s always surrounded by people and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get the words out in front of a group.

Cyrus shoots him another quick smile. TJ almost smiles back, but then Buffy’s head is turning and she’s meeting his eye. Her expression suggests he should go die in a hole. TJ gives up on lunch.

Heading out of the cafeteria he wonders if he can get away with sneaking out for a smoke before his next class. He recently found a spot behind the gym where the floor is littered with cigarette butts and the teachers don’t appear to visit (or if they do he’s pretty sure they’re going out for a smoke break themselves) and he’s taken to slipping out to chill there in his free moments. He doesn’t even get to check the time on his watch before trouble finds him once again.

Over the past couple of weeks there are two things TJ has concluded with an utmost certainty about Jefferson High School:

 

  * ****Its dress code is stupid.****


  * **While being host to many an asshole, the biggest asshole of all is one Mr Donnie Seabrook.**



Donnie struts around like he owns the place and honestly he probably does at this point. He’s a walking cliche of a high school bully; quarterback for the football team, arm muscles bigger than TJ’s head, and dumb as a pile of bricks. It’s safe to say that he and TJ don’t see eye to eye. They’ve had a few run-ins since TJ first saw him knock Cyrus down in the hall. Unlike boys like Reed and his friends, Donnie and his posse were neither amused or entertained by TJ’s attire and attitude upon meeting him properly for the first time. The words ‘trailer park trash’ had been thrown his way and TJ’s mouth had gotten the better of him, implying something about the size of certain body parts that Donnie had _not_ appreciated.

On any other day, TJ might have ignored the way Donnie shoulder-barges him in the hall, but as previously mentioned today has been, quite frankly, one giant suck-fest and damn if it isn’t easy to provoke him when he’s in a bad mood.

“Watch where you’re going, fag,” Donnie sneers.

TJ snaps. He shoves back.

Suddenly, there are fists involved.

“Jesus, you’re such a psycho,” Donnie spits as people pull the two of them apart. He wipes at his mouth, glaring at TJ and when he pulls his hand back there’s blood on it. TJ’s fist, stomach and cheek are all throbbing and there’s a violent rage pulsing through him. He pulls at the hands holding him back. There’s a lot of yelling going on around him, someone (maybe a teacher?) calling for them to break it up, but he’s not taking any of it in. The world tilts on his axis and his fists are clenched so hard he’s probably going to have nail marks on his palms. He wants to hit Donnie so hard he cries.

The word ‘fag’ rings in his ears.

A gentle hand touches his shoulder and a voice breaks through the noise.

“TJ, stop.”

He turns to see Cyrus stood there, wide-eyed and alarmed, and the fight drains out of him. The world rights itself and all the anger is replaced by fear. He pulls away from Cyrus’ touch, grabs his bag from the floor and flees the scene before anybody can stop him.

 

*******

 

Cyrus rides home slowly in a daze. It’s not the first time he’s witnessed a fight at school, Jefferson is filled with overdramatic teenagers who don’t know how to properly address their feelings so it’s not like that’s a shock, but the look in he’d witnessed in TJ’s eyes had been something he’s never seen before. It was like he wasn’t even present, like an animal who had chosen fight over flight ad his fists kept swinging long after they needed to, but when he’d snapped out of it he’d looked… scared, almost.

TJ Kippen is an enigma that Cyrus gets less and less sure about trying to figure out every day, but that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to know him oh so badly. He wants to know what had been going on in TJ’s head before he ran. Why he’d run. Where he’d gone.

He thinks about the colours on TJ’s fingers and the Spiderman on the wall of Jefferson and wonders if tomorrow they’ll find another part of Shadyside has been redecorated according to the mind of somebody looking for an escape. He hopes so. The town needs brightening up.

He doesn’t even realise which route he’s taking until it’s too late. Buffy and the others all have various extracurriculars today that have left him riding alone, and at some point, while he was lost in thought his subconscious must’ve decided to deal with all of his questions about TJ by entering Wickers street on the left side and taking him right by number twelve instead of his usual journey straight home. Or maybe he’s just been hoping to see TJ. If that’s the case, then he’s in luck.

Out on the wonky front steps of the Kippen’s ramshackle house, with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, he sits fiddling with the buttons of a sticker-covered Walkman. The headphones rest around the back of his neck and he seems utterly oblivious to the rest of the world. Cyrus stops peddling and pauses for a moment before making his decision.

He gets off his bike, kicks up the stand and heads over the to TJ.

“Heck of a show you put on today,” he pipes up as he approaches. TJ’s head snaps up in alarm but his expression melts into quick relief when he realises it’s just Cyrus. He shrugs at him and puts out the cigarette, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to smirk up at him.

The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s an angry bruise already formed high on his left cheek.

“Gotta give people something to talk about,” he replies nonchalantly. “Things were getting a bit quiet around here. Shadyside could use some excitement.”

Cyrus gestures at the bruise. “Yeah? Was it worth sacrificing your face to fuel the gossip?”

“Why do you care?”

He shrugs back at TJ, he can’t help but smile a little. A sudden swell of confidence surges through him and he says boldly, “It’s a nice face. Shame to see it get messed up.”

It works. TJ huffs out a quiet laugh. Cyrus is struck quite without warning by a strange thought. He’s only known this guy for two weeks, they barely know each other and yet.... there’s a connection there. Something unspoken in all the furtive looks and the few verbal exchanges they’ve had. Every small interaction lights up Cyrus’ entire body like a match being dragged across an ignition strip.

He shakes himself mentally. That’s ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous.

“Can I sit?” He asks, gesturing to the space next to TJ. TJ doesn’t say anything, just moves his knee out the way so Cyrus can join him, and the pair of them sit in companionable silence for a few minutes.

It’s a nice day out. Peaceful. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and there’s a gentle breeze running across the trees that line the street. Picturesque - the American dream.

TJ’s knuckles are bruised too.

“Why’d you hit him?” Cyrus asks quietly.

They had all watched as TJ threw the first punch. Horror and dread had filled the pit of Cyrus’ stomach the second he’d spotted the look on his face after Donnie shoved into him. His legs had carried him across the cafeteria without his permission. It’s possible that he would’ve tried pulling TJ off Donnie himself if Coach Rez hadn’t gotten there first, which is extraordinary considering he generally goes out of his way trying to avoid getting involved in conflict (especially the physical kind).

“I don’t know.” It’s obviously a lie, but if he doesn’t want him to know then Cyrus isn’t going to pry any further.

There are another few moments of silence. Cyrus watches him pick at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. He envies those jeans a little; TJ has a way of looking cool so effortlessly. If he was less abrasive and actually spoke to people he would easily be one of the most popular guys in school.

“You wanna go for a ride?” TJ asks, abruptly.

Cyrus looks at him, then follows his gaze to the dented gray ford in the driveway.

“Will your mom need the car?”

“Nah, she walks to work.”

He knows what he should say. He should say he’ll be late for dinner, he has homework to do, he needs to clean his room and help his mom with some of the gardening. TJ is a rebel without a cause. He smokes and starts fights and vandalises walls; he’s exactly the kind of person his parents have always warned him to stay away from. Even his friends think he’s a bad idea. Cyrus should not get in the car with him. He shouldn’t even be talking to him. He should say no.

He doesn’t want to say no.

“Where do you want to go?” He asks instead.

  


  


  



	4. Three

TJ knows he’s in trouble the second the house comes into view. There’s a police car pulled into the driveway and all the lights are on. His mom is totally about to murder him. Hardcore. For a moment he contemplates just turning the car around and not dealing with it but he’s pretty sure that would only make things worse for him later on. At least he’d had the forethought to come back using the route that went by Cyrus’ house first. He didn’t want to drag him into this too. He thinks about climbing in through the window and claiming he’s been home all along, but he’s pretty sure that wouldn’t fly with the local police department. It definitely wouldn’t go over well with his mom.

He sighs, lets himself lean his head on the steering wheel for a moment and then gets out to face the music. Rather than announcing his presence with words, he lets the loose hinges of the door swing back too fast, so the resulting thunk of wood against wall drew the attention of those in the living room. There are two cops stood by the television, one clutching a notepad and pen, the other with a stern look on his face and his arms folded. His mom perches on the on the couch, face the picture of distress. Their heads snap up as TJ trudges inside. To anyone else, it would have been quite alarming to witness the way Laura Kippen’s face morphed from its expression of motherly worry to one of thunderous rage, but TJ has pissed her off enough times to have seen it all before. He lifts his chin and meets her eyes. There’s a beat of silence as the cops take in the staring contest. The stern one raises an eyebrow.

“This him, ma’am?” He asks. TJ doesn’t like the expression on the guy’s face. There’s something challenging about it. 

Remembering they’re in the presence of company, the rage drops and becomes a simple pinched look of resignation as she turns to the men. “Oh, yes. This is him, officers. I’m terribly sorry about all of this,” she turns back to TJ and hisses, “Where have you been? I was worried sick. The school called and told me you got into a fight! And you skipped class! What were you thinking? You can’t just go running off and stealing the car whenever you feel like it, TJ! Anything could’ve happened to you and I would never have known, you didn’t even bother to leave me a note.”

“You had everybody quite worried, son,” the notepad bearing officer chimes in, voice softer than his companion’s. “We thought you might’ve been in an accident.”

TJ shrugs in the most blase manner he can summon. He knows it will piss them off. He can see the jaw of the stern officer clench. It only makes him want to add salt to the wound. “I just went to get fries. ‘S no big deal.”

“No big-” His mom takes one step towards him then stops, making an aborted gesture of frustration. “No big deal? I can’t believe you. You couldn’t have bothered to pick up a pay phone and let me know you were okay?!”

“I didn’t have any change! Anyway, why do you even care? You got an evening of peace and quiet from it.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “I have spent the entire evening fretting that my only son could be dead in a ditch somewhere, how dare you-”

“Yeah, right. Like you even care.” TJ snorts.

That’s when the stern guy clears his throat and steps between the two of them, levelling TJ a look that ensures he knows he is not impressed. TJ realises with a flash of annoyance that the badge pinned to his front reads  **_‘Chief of Police’_ ** . No wonder he’s getting bad vibes from him. Mere beat officers are already ego tripping, let alone the higher-ups who run entire departments. He hardens his stance and glares at him. The chief does not look phased.

“I would be careful how you speak to your mother, Mr Kippen,” he warns. “You’re lucky to have somebody that clearly cares about you, even when you behave like a brat. I don’t know how you do it back in the city, but here in Shadyside, we respect our own. Now listen here. I will not have you coming in here and treating this town and this police force as a joke. We came very close to sending out a search party tonight. If you had come home any later there would’ve been folks giving up their precious time helping us try to find you. You caused some serious concern. We have better things to do than be wasting our time and resources chasing around deviant teenagers who have no respect for the people who care about them. You can throw as many temper tantrums as you like, but I suggest you grow up. And soon. Or you will become my problem, personally. I don’t like having problems in this town. The people here are good. Life is peaceful, and I will not have a smartass like you ruining that for everybody. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Officer.” TJ sneers back. “Are we done here?” He doesn’t give anyone a chance to respond before he says, “Good.” and beats a hasty retreat to his room. He’ll pay for it later, he’s sure he’ll be grounded for the next month at least, but for now, he just lets himself fall into bed and replay the memories of that evening over on a loop.

The night with Cyrus had been something special. TJ recalls daring the look in Cyrus’ eye when he asked where he wanted to go.

“Anywhere but here,” TJ had said in response. That answer had been good enough, which Cyrus made apparent by climbing into the passenger side without any hesitation whatsoever. Oh, the sweet smell of rebellion in the evening. As they drove, Cyrus’ leg had jittered up and down out of time to the slow crooning from the radio. It was probable, TJ remembered thinking, that Cyrus didn’t have much of a relationship with spontaneity. He made TJ think of a disastrous clutter of organisers and careful schedules. It was hard to keep his eyes on the road but somehow he managed.

They ended up stretched out across the hood of the car, parked on a high-up peak and eating the McDonald’s they’d grabbed from the drive-thru, taking in the view of the valley as the sun dipped behind the mountains and the town beneath them glittered in bright silvers and golds. 

“Shadyside doesn’t look all that bad like this,” TJ had admitted as he picked at his fries. 

“That’s because it’s not,” Cyrus had smiled back. “You just have to get used to it.”

“Don’t you get bored of everyone knowing your business and having fuck all to do?”

A shrug in response. “I’ve never known anything else.”

He took in the neatly pressed collar of Cyrus’ shirt and his easygoing smile. He’s the kind of boy who ends up student body president and everybody’s mother adores. There was a terrible temptation within TJ to see if he could get him to be anything less than perfect, even for a second, and for a moment he thought he understood why adults call him a bad influence so often. He’s the kind of boy Cyrus that Cyrus should feel he’d rather be found dead than seen caught with and that only makes the temptation grow. 

It had been towards the end of the night when he was dropping him off that Cyrus had surprised him the most. He thinks back to it now, relishing the memory and the tint of sweetness it has to it...

 

_ They pull up to the curb and Cyrus bids him goodnight so softly TJ's heart hurts for a moment as he watches him climb out of the car. If he was honest with himself (which, let's be real, he's not) he'd admit that there's a huge part of him that hates to see him go and that's why his heart almost skips a beat at what happens next.  _

_ Cyrus hesitates for a moment outside the car and then leans back through the open window. _

_ “Hey, do you wanna hang out sometime?” He asks. “Y'know, like normal people.” _

_ “Like normal people?” TJ repeats in surprise. _

_ He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah, like going to the arcade or getting slurpies at the mall. Something like that.” _

_ “Won’t your bodyguards have something to say about you spending time with a delinquent like me?” _

_ There’s a slight twinkle in his eye as he says, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” _

 

With Cyrus to look forward to, TJ can’t even bring himself to be bothered about getting in trouble.

 

*******

 

Shadyside is still Shadyside and school is still hell, but TJ does actually manage to find one class during which he doesn’t totally want to throw himself out the window. Art has always been his favourite, so it’s no surprise really. It helps that the teacher is slightly crazy and impossible to hate even a little bit.

Mrs Mack or ‘my-students-call-me-Bex-but-don’t-tell-Metcalf’ is nothing like any of the other members of staff TJ has met so far. She wears paint-splattered jeans and big combat boots. Her plaid shirt is oversized and underneath it, there’s a Ramones t-shirt so faded you almost can’t see the picture on the front. The first class he’d had with her she’d lay down the law right off the bat.

“Oh, so you’re the new kid. My daughter Andi’s in your grade, she’s mentioned you,” there had been a joking lilt to her tone that he didn’t expect. “It’s funny, you don’t  _ look  _ like you’re growing up to be a serial killer.”

He remembered raising an eyebrow at her coolly. “Aren’t you a little young to have a teenage daughter?”

She had merely folded her arms and shot back, “Aren’t you a little old for the ‘I hate the world and everyone in it’ schtick?”

“Touche.” 

“Listen, I don’t know you, kid, and I’m not going to base my first impressions off some stupid high school drama. As long as you show up to class, do your assignments and don’t try to punch anyone else in here then you can create whatever you want. If not, you can be relegated to still lifes of fruit baskets all year. Capiche?”

Bex has a take no crap attitude that’s different to the rest of the faculty. Her approach is laid back and funny, and it makes TJ respect her instantly, she knows obviously knows that poking at him with a strict regiment of rules isn’t going to get them anywhere. Plus, her fashion sense is kind of awesome. He’s a little bit envious of her collection of tour t-shirts He wonders how she gets away with dressing like that as a teacher. It is possible that TJ’s found the only cool adult in the entirety of Shadyside. Before meeting her, he hadn’t thought there were any. 

Today in art class they’re not focusing on anything specific. Sometimes Bex will have a loose lesson plan that mostly involves showing them pictures of artworks that she either loves or hates and slating them or saying something along the lines of “do you guys wanna try doing your own take on Warhol’s work?” with a variety of different artists. Mostly, she just lets them be and compliments them on whatever they're doing. There’s a girl in the corner that makes a lot of stick and paste collages from old polaroids and newspaper clippings (they usually have a dark undertone about the end of the world). One kid at the back crafts odd little sculptures out of anything he can find which admittedly always end up looking pretty sick. TJ tends to stick to sketches and marker-pen comic book panels but in recent days he’s started picking up paints and working at an easel.

He was hit by a sudden inspiration a few nights back, after a particularly grim dream about breaking his arm, so now he’s halfway through a colourful acrylic depiction of a monster hunter facing off against the shadows in a haunted house. When he’d finished sketching it up on to the canvas, Bex had given it a thoughtful nod and told him he had a great imagination. TJ had pretended not to be pleased. He carries that secret happiness with him the rest of the morning.

The good mood that art puts him in is destroyed pretty fast during gym class. Over the past couple of weeks he and Coach Rez, the gym teacher, have managed to get into a silent war over TJ taking part. He absolutely refuses to wear those stupid little shorts and high socks, meanwhile after seeing TJ attempt to sock Donnie in the face Coach seemed to have gotten into his head that TJ needed an athletic outlet for his anger and had been determinately trying to recruit him to join the wrestling team. If he can’t get TJ to wear P.E uniform he’s definitely not getting him to wear a wrestling one.

“I just think it would be good for you to get more involved,” Coach says hopefully after pulling TJ aside  _ again  _ in the locker room. TJ just folds his arms and fixes him with a sour look of unimpressed scorn. “Not even the track team?”

TJ doesn’t waver. Coach sighs. “Look, kid. I’m just trying to help you out here. You know if you don’t take part I have to fail you, right? It’s not gonna look good on your report card.”

Nothing is going to look good on his report card here. Nothing has for the past year and a half. It was the same back home in the city and it’s not going to change now. TJ has embraced his life as an academic failure. He’s not going to be guilted into joining some stupid team by his grades. He says nothing.

“Okay,” Coach sighs again. “You’re gonna have to go to the principle’s office then, I can’t have students refusing to take part and this is the third time you’ve done this. Gym is a legal requirement. I can’t keep just putting you in detention.”

That’s a shame. Detention is a pretty good place for peace and quiet. TJ gets a lot of drawing done during his trips there.

TJ shrugs and picks up his bag. He takes the slip that Coach Rez writes up and pushes his way out of the doors, letting the bang shut behind him. It’s a relief just to be out of there. Locker rooms aren’t a particularly fun place to be when you’ve got people like Donnie Seabrook talking trash about you behind your back. When he’s in there all the other guys look at him like he might bite… or try and drag them to a gay bar. He’s sick of those looks.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone if he doesn’t actually go to find Dr Metcalf, so he doesn’t bother. He skips down the front steps of the school and fumbles for a cigarette as he goes. If anyone sees him they don’t care enough to come after him. Freedom tastes like ashy smoke and sounds like the rattle of a spray paint can.

 

*******

 

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Cyrus greets his friend as he slides his lunch tray into place at their cafeteria table. Almost everyone’s already there, squished around the tables they’ve pushed into a cluster at their usual spot. He sits down next to Jonah and immediately accepts the baby tater offered to him - Jonah knows him so well.

“They’re talking about the new kid again,” Marty shrugs. Buffy’s face is a scornful frown as she picks at the fries on her plate. For some reason, the group has taken to referring to TJ as ‘the new kid’ in a tone that suggests they’re talking about a particularly nasty disease. He rolls his eyes.

“What’s happened now?” Cyrus asks, trying not to sound too bothered. He hasn’t told them anything about his late-night meetings with TJ. They don’t even know about the conversation in the hallway. He’s pretty sure if he tells them now it will end badly. TJ had agreed he needs to apologise to Buffy, but it hasn’t happened yet and Buffy’s attitude (along with everyone else’s) only seems to sour more with every passing day. 

“He skipped out on gym again,” Jonah says. “Some kids saw him leave. He was smoking out the front too, I don’t know how he gets away with this kind of stuff. My dad said he basically went missing the other night like stole his mom’s car and disappeared, then he came back and acted like it was no big deal.”

Guilt twinges inside of him. Cyrus wonders why TJ didn’t tell anyone who he was with at the time. He hopes he hasn’t gotten in too much trouble. Cyrus doesn’t want to be culpable for his getting punished when both of them were out. When he’d come back he’d made the excuse of a late night movie marathon at Jonah’s house to his parents and they’d accepted it easily. All they’d done was ask him to call ahead next time. He guesses it’s different for TJ - he doesn’t really have any friends in Shadyside to anyone’s knowledge. If he goes off the grid he doesn’t have the excuse of getting caught up hanging out with his buddies.

“I wouldn’t like to make your dad angry,” Andi says. “He’s so intense.”

Jonah nods sagely. “He was pretty over it. He says he’s never met someone with such a bad attitude. Says we should stay away from him probably… he’s not a good kid.”

“Obviously,” Buffy snorts. “Like we didn’t already know he’s a jerk.”

Cyrus sighs internally and focuses on his food while they continue to chat around him. He wonders where TJ disappeared to… if there will be another homage to superheroes splashed across a wall when the final bell goes and they’re free to leave. He finds himself missing his company, which is weird because it’s not like he’s had all that much of it, to begin with. He wonders how his friends would react if he told them about the way TJ makes his mouth go dry and his palms sweat.

Probably not well, he decides. He shoves the thoughts back down where they belonged, untouched and ignored. It’s safer that way. 

 

*******

 

Hanging out with Cyrus during the daylight is a weird experience.

The mall is like its own little world. The bright shine of the fluorescent lights and the smell of greasy foods from the food court wafting through the air transport TJ to childhood shopping trips with his mom when he’d gotten bored watching her browse for new blouses for hours on end and always ended up insisting they go to the comic book store until she’d inevitably given in so he’d stop whining. Despite his complaints, they’d been some of his favourite days because it meant the two of them got out of the house without any trouble. Those days had been different. He has no desire to return to them.

Just as Cyrus suggested, the two of them end up getting slurpies from the downstairs kiosk. They wander around aimlessly, ducking into random clothes stores to pick at hideous jackets and try on kicks neither of them could ever afford on a teenage budget. Eventually, they wind up in a cluttered little record store. The walls are filled with shelved tapes and huge posters of pop icons. The ceiling is decorated with loose vinyl discs glued up making it look like a dark night sky of music. The two of them flick through the boxes of records with care, occasionally pulling out old classics their parents enjoy to make fun or singles they enjoy themselves. It becomes increasingly clear very fast that their respective music tastes are a little different. Or a lot.

Try two-different-worlds-apart different.

Cyrus is a fan of Cyndi Lauper and Madonna. He tells TJ he likes music that he can dance to, the kind of happy bubblegum pop that you would hear playing on the overhead speakers in changing rooms in _ Deb _ . TJ thinks this is hilarious but not at all surprising given Cyrus’ personality. Cyrus pokes him in the side and huffs when he tells him this and he has to restrain himself from starting a playful shoving match right there in the store. 

“There’s nothing wrong with liking fun music,” he sniffs at TJ, but there’s an amused glint in his eye that says he doesn’t mind being teased. “What do  _ you  _ like that’s so superior then?”

“Bon Jovi,” TJ replies instantly. 

“Is that the guy with the hair?”

“He’s one of the guys with the hair. They’re a band. You must’ve heard of them, they’re awesome.”

Cyrus just shrugs and TJ makes a noise of discontent. He’s a little more outraged at the idea of somebody not knowing who Bon Jovi is than he should be probably but that’s part of the fun. 

“Rock music isn’t really my thing.”

“You’re missing out,” TJ insists. “Rock is so rad. It’s like… the coolest music scene. My Uncle used to take me to see bands like AC/DC and Van Halen. They put on the best shows!”

“I’ve never been to a concert before,” Cyrus says and TJ gapes at him. This is a tragedy in most dire need of fixing. He makes a mental note to look at tour dates for local bands soon and see if he can convince Cyrus to come and see one of them. He shakes his head in faux-disappointment and pulls out a copy of Bon Jovi’s debut record and waves it at Cyrus. 

“Runaway is one of the best songs on the planet,” he says as Cyrus takes it and flips it over to read the sleeve. “It goes so hard.”

“I’ve not heard it.”

“I’ll show it to you at some point,” TJ says. Excitement builds in his chest. He rarely gets the chance to show off his music to people and he’s pretty sure Cyrus wouldn’t just brush it off even if it’s not his kind of thing. “I’ve got so many mixtapes from back home if you wanna listen to them?”

“It’ll be like a musical education session,” Cyrus chuckles and hands the sleeve back. “My mom would go ape. She’s convinced rock music is a leading cause of teenage rebellion or something.”

“She sounds like a lot.”

He shrugs. “She is, but I love her. She’s just super protective.”

“You sure you should be hanging with me, then? Adults don’t tend to approve. I’m a ‘bad influence’.”

“Just because you’re a bit mouthy doesn’t mean I’m suddenly gonna start getting tattoos and riding motorcycles,” Cyrus says with a roll of his eyes, then looks uncertain. “...You don’t have any tattoos, right?”

TJ snorts. It’s funny because he’s afraid of needles an, in his mind, the idea of getting a tattoo is the worst. “No. I don’t have any tattoos.”

“See? You can’t be  _ that  _ bad of an influence, then.”

He laughs and puts the record back where it belongs. “You wanna hit up the arcade? I got a pocket full of coins. We can try ‘n beat the high scores. Bet I can kick your ass at Pac-Man.”

“You’re on!” Cyrus’ eyes light up. “And I’m a killer at Dragon’s Lair. Can we stop for pretzels on the way?”

“Totally.”

It’s shaping up to be a pretty good day so far. TJ almost forgets he’s meant to hate it here.

 

*******

 

TJ is busy being captivated by the staticky flickering images that flash across ten identical screens in the front window display of a television store when a blinding flash startles him out of his own head. He turns and frowns. Cyrus is stood, bag open and at his feet, clutching a chunky black Spectra System. There are small scratches and dents across the surface of the camera, it’s battered as if he’s dropped it a fair few times, but it fits in his hands like it’s meant to be a permanent fixture. 

“What are you doing?” TJ sighs. He is very much not a photography kind of person. In fact, if he had the option to erase all evidence of his existence he would definitely take it. Cyrus is practically buzzing with excitement as the polaroid slowly slides out and when he grabs it he gently fans it through the air. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Cyrus lifts the camera to his eye again with a cheeky smile and TJ pretends to be annoyed but lets him take the shot anyway. He doesn’t ask TJ to smile or insist he pose, so if taking pictures makes him happy he’s not going to complain. 

“Now one of us together,” He insists, slipping in next to TJ on the bench. WIthout thinking about it TJ slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in closer. He’s so busy being amused at Cyrus’ enthusiasm that he almost smiles himself. When the flash goes off it takes him by surprise. It’s nice feeling wanted - nobody’s ever asked to take a photograph with him before, let alone more than one. 

“What’re they for?” He asks. “I’m going to put them on my memory wall.” “Memory wall?” “Yeah! I have a wall in my bedroom where I put all the pictures I take of really good days and like postcards and stuff. Then when I’m not feeling great I can just look over at it and remember all the good in my life,” Cyrus explains, then bites his lip. His cheeks have gone slightly pink. “...That probably sounds really stupid.” 

TJ shakes his head in an immediate rebuff. “It’s not stupid. It’s nice. So today’s been a good day, huh?” He gets a shy smile in response to that, accompanied by an airy, “Has been so far.” 

_ Guess I better make sure it stays good then _ , TJ thinks to himself. The idea of Cyrus enjoying their hang out enough to put it on his wall is… really something. That twisting feeling in his gut has returned and it’s enough to distract him into letting Cyrus take another couple of pictures. 

Words find their way rolling off TJ’s tongue before he can stop them. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.”

“Why do you want to hang out with me?”

Cyrus frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He levels him with a look that says ‘we both know why’ but he just shrugs back at TJ and lifts the camera again. He talks from behind it, face half hidden. “I don’t know. You’re cool. You’re nice to me. I think we have a lot in common, actually.”

“You do?” That’s not what he expected him to say. 

“We’re both kind of outsiders.”

“You’re not an outsider. You have tons of friends. I’ve met them, they hate me, remember?”

Cyrus sighs and drops the camera down into his lap again, he looks off into the distance and worries at his lip again. TJ waits with patience, unwilling to push him like he would with anybody else. It’s not that Cyrus is fragile, but the risk of breaking whatever this weird little friendship they’ve got going is too much for him to stand. He doesn’t want him to leave.

“I’ve got friends,” Cyrus agrees with a nod. “But… I don’t know. Without them, I don’t think anybody would actually take any notice of me. Or if they did it wouldn’t be good. I’m too… I’m not what they want me to be.”

TJ’s mind flashes back to Donnie Seabrook and the slurs he spits out so easily. A spark of anger flares up inside him. He’s not sure when he decided he’d be willing to fight Donnie again for Cyrus, but it solidifies in his thoughts right then and there that he totally would be.

“I don’t know, you’re a pretty chill guy,” he disagrees.

There’s a rueful smile in place on Cyrus’ lips now as he fiddles with the camera. “I’m forgettable.”

And there it is. The dumbest thing TJ has ever heard in his life. He can’t imagine ever being able to forget Cyrus’ big brown eyes and wide smile. He’s too striking. The image of him that first day in the hallway will forever be etched on to the surface of his brain - a vivid memory that invades his thoughts and dreams on a regular basis.

 

*******

 

It’s easy to tell TJ about his feelings and that scares Cyrus a little. They haven’t known each other that long but he already feels like he could talk to him about anything. Something about the other boy makes him feel safe. 

Which is probably why he finds it so easy to return the questions with his own curious thoughts. He blurts out what he wants to know before he can chicken out. 

"Why are you so willing to talk to me? You won’t talk to anyone else,” At least not civilly, he tacks on in his head. This question has been burning at the tip of Cyrus’ tongue since the beginning. He’s not sure what it is about this moment that makes him think TJ might give him a straight answer, but there’s a feeling in his gut that this is the right time to ask.   
  
"You're easy to talk to,” TJ shrugs and picks at his jeans. He won’t look at Cyrus. “Around you, I feel like I don't have to put on a mask. I can be myself… I like myself more when I'm around you, I guess.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t expected TJ to be as honest as that, or for the honest truth to be so meaningful. Without thinking about it he reaches out and places a gentle hand on TJ’s cheek. It’s almost a caress. He runs his thumb along the sharp edge of his cheekbone and TJ finally lifts his gaze to meet Cyrus’. There’s something like fear in his eyes that he doesn’t know what to make of and all of Cyrus’ words are suddenly stuck in his throat. 

Tension hangs in the air for one intense moment and then the sound of a girl’s joyful shriek startles them both. Remembering where they are, Cyrus drops his hand and looks around. Nobody’s paying them any mind. There’s a cluster of Middle School kids playing around by a water fountain just across from them, splashing each other and laughing.

“Wanna head back?” TJ asks. He’s all ease and exuding confidence again, not a flicker of the vulnerable boy Cyrus had just seen in sight. How does he do that? Cyrus wishes he could slip in and out of emotions as fast. “We could go back to mine and listen to those tapes I was telling you about?”

Oh! From the way TJ’s leg jiggles up and down in quick nervous fashion, he gets the impression that he’s not used to asking people over to his house. Cyrus feels trusted all of a sudden. 

“Sounds great,” he says and struggles to his feet.

Number twelve Wickers Street has always registered in Cyrus’ mind as the crumbling shack at the end of the street but it’s never been particularly worthy of note until now. When he steps inside after TJ it’s a little bit like falling in love. For all its tumbledown exterior, the interior of the house has been turned into a homely den of comfort. It’s clear that TJ and his mother have put a lot of effort into making a nice place to live in the past few weeks. Mismatched cushions and throws decorate the ageing couch, several overflowing bookshelves line the walls and miscellaneous everyday items scatter random surfaces. It’s nothing like the slightly-too-tidy feeling of his own him. It’s cluttered and filled with beaten up but obviously loved possessions. The whole place oozes an impressive amount of sentiment considering it hasn’t been all that long since they moved in.

TJ fidgets like he doesn’t know what to do with himself as Cyrus looks around. “It’s not much,” he says. There’s a nervous edge to his voice that makes Cyrus frown a little. Almost like shame.

“It’s wicked,” he announces. “I love it.”

He receives a disbelieving eyebrow for his words but it’s true. It feels like a home here, like a getaway from the rest of the world with all the space to be yourself inside of it without worrying what anybody else thinks. It had Cyrus wondering what Mrs Kippen is like. His mother had liked her so he takes that as a good sign. Plus, as much as he likes TJ he thinks anyone who raised such a stubborn guy must be a pretty strong person. He wants to meet her. 

“My room’s this way,” TJ says and heads down the hall. Cyrus follows him and tries not to get distracted looking around some more. It’s not a very big house and it takes all of two seconds to reach his door but it feels like a glimpse inside TJ’s head.

It feels even more so like that when they enter his bedroom. The room looks like TJ has been inhabiting it since the dawn of time rather than a few weeks. It’s a messy explosion of pinned up drawings, posters, scattered clothes, cassette tapes and comic books. There’s so much colour at first it’s like an assault on his eyes. Within seconds of stepping in after TJ, Cyrus’ suspicions about the graffiti popping up around town are confirmed. There are small marker pen panels of what he assumes is TJ’s own take on Spider-Man still lying at the end of his unmade bed. He doesn’t mention it. 

“Sorry about the mess,” TJ says, throwing down his keys on the desk and shrugging out of his jacket. “Make yourself at home.”

Cyrus does so. He floats around the room admiring the madness. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

That’s technically a lie. He’d had his suspicions about the paint on TJ’s fingers and he’d overheard Andi’s mom talking about how good TJ’s work was in her class (a fact which had annoyed Buffy beyond belief).  However, he hadn’t realised quite how good TJ was. It’s not just comic book art, there are paintings and sketches that look so life-like they could be photographs. He leans forward when he spots a charcoal drawing stuck in the corner of TJ’s mirror. It must be copied from a photo because it has TJ in it although he looks a lot younger in it, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and he’s stood with two other people. They look happy there. One must be his mom, but he’s not sure about the man. 

"Is that your dad?" Cyrus asks. He doesn't expect TJ to freeze up the way he does - his eyes glass over for a brief moment in such a way that he's immediately alarmed. Then he's back and present, swallowing loudly and shaking his head.   
  
"Sorry," Says Cyrus softly. "Should I not have asked?"   
  
He realises suddenly that in the entire time they've known each other he has not once heard TJ mention anything about his father. Has he overstepped by asking? May his parents are split up or his father is dead.    
  
"No. No, it's fine," TJ replies after a beat. Cyrus isn't sure if he's trying to reassure him or himself. "No that's not my dad. That's, uh, that's Jimmy. My uncle. We lived with him back at home."   
  
The obvious question burns at the forefront of Cyrus' mind, but if TJ's reaction to the mere mention of his father was any indication as to how he'd react to being asked then he has no desire to pry any further. That's for TJ to tell him on his own terms.   
  
"He looks cool," Cyrus says. TJ smiles then, a very genuine look of fondness falling across his features    
  
"He is," he says confidently. "He's the coolest. He used to take me to gigs and show me how to make mixtapes and stuff. He's great."   
  
"How come he didn't move with you?"   
  
TJ shrugs. "His life is back in the city I guess."

“Will he come and visit at some point?”

“Probably. He and my mom are really close.” 

Cyrus smiles and perches on the edge of the bed. “I’d like to meet him. He sounds like he had a big impact on you.”

TJ settles himself next to Cyrus and the old mattress dips, forcing them even closer together until their thighs and sides are pressed up against one another. Neither of them moves away. “That would be rad,” TJ agrees. “He’d like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You’ve got a lot of questions today,” TJ huffs, but he doesn’t actually seem bothered by it. “Are you planning to join the Spanish Inquisition or something?” _   
_

Cyrus knocks their elbows together with a laugh. “Shut up. I was just… is it you? Behind the graffiti? I mean, it’s gotta be, right?”

“You gonna grass me up?”

“Why would I do that?” Cyrus asks. “I think they look… they make this town look like it’s lived in instead of dying.”

He’s being nothing but honest. Looking around at the smaller versions of TJ’s art he can see how the style jumps right off the pages. It’s like you could step into the vivid fantasy worlds made up of bright paint and soft lines. It’s like TJ’s mind is seeping into reality a little bit. It’s magical. They could use a little magic around here.

TJ raises an eyebrow.  “You saying I should keep doing it?” 

“I’m saying I think you should try not to get caught,” he replies. “Chief Beck has an eye out for you. He doesn’t play around with this kind of stuff. He’s kind of scary.”

“Oh, are you and the Chief in cahoots or something?” TJ teases. “Word really gets around easy in this town, huh?”

Cyrus grins. “He’s Jonah’s dad. He gets to hear a lot of this stuff first hand. He was telling us about it at lunch the other day.”

He blows a harsh breath out of his cheeks and picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “Oof sucks for him. Must be kinda annoying to have the head of the police department as your dad.”

“It just means he’s mastered the art of sneaking around.”

“Ha. And here I was thinking your friends were all goody-goodies like Driscoll.”

“She sneaks out too. There’s not much else to do here.”

“Where do you guys go?”

“Lots of places,” Cyrus shrugs. “Parking. Swimming down at the lake. All the hangout spots. Parties. That kind of thing. The others have this band going… no one’s parents are too happy about it I don’t think? They say it’s distracting. So they kind of sneak around to practice.”

TJ almost looks impressed from once but Cyrus suspects as long as his friends are involved in the conversation he’s always going to be a little bit wary in his responses. 

“Feel like showing me to these hang out spots at some point?” he asks. Cyrus doesn’t bother to bite back his smile. So they’re doing this then.

“Sure… if you show me some of your music.

TJ’s face lights up again and Cyrus knows he’s made the right decision. He can feel an addiction settling into that smile and he wonders how much more he can get TJ to drop the casual facade of coolness. His heart thumps at the very idea of it.

God, he is so far down the rabbit hole already. There’s no going back now.


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to listen to the tracklist of the tape TJ made for Cyrus [here's a link](https://open.spotify.com/user/cn1k3462ejlisyzdqc9g0afgi/playlist/7gtziZ4uo09wbweeNHGJbY?si=TVbSd48JQo6GVpr54XywrQ)

Getting away with his graffiti in Shadyside the past few weeks has been extraordinarily easy so far but TJ’s string of luck eventually runs out. It's been a while since he last got to hang out with Cyrus and he finds himself growing tired all too fast with his surroundings. There's only so many hours in a weekend that he can spend messing with his Walkman and waiting for Uncle Jim to get off work so he can call. His bedroom is starting to feel like a prison and even on school nights when he's exhausted from the endless droning of his teachers and hassle from the other students he finds himself sprawled across his bed wondering if it's possible to die of boredom.

It's still daylight when he takes matters into his own hands and that's his first mistake. It's an amateur move, one he knows better than to do, but the small town has lulled him into a false sense of security and it has so many blank walls calling to him. They draw him in like the worst kind of temptation and make his fingers itch. He could make them look so much better. Oh, he plans to make them look like they belong in a museum. It's not long before he's slipping out his window with a backpack full of clinking cans and heading out towards the edge of town where he's spotted a beautifully blank alleyway before. He can already smell the aerosol.

Ever since he was small, TJ has found comfort in his own imagination. Fantasies are untouchable. In a world that no one else visits he is safe from all possible threat and nothing can hurt him. He can't be touched. There's something deeply satisfying about bringing those daydreams he has into the real world through paintbrushes and ink running down a page. The rattle and click of a half-empty spray paint remind him that he's real. He exists. There is something worth being here for. Even as his thoughts begin to cover a concrete canvas they are free from being wrecked by reality.  
  
It makes him feel so alive.   
  
He's so caught up in the world he's creating on the crumbling wall and that he doesn't hear the quiet footsteps approaching until it's too late. A throat clears behind him and he freezes, shoulders tensing, an involuntary curse slips from between his lips.   
  
"Put the paint down and turn around."   
  
He knows that voice. He hates that he knows that voice. He doesn't drop the paint but he does steel himself and turns slowly to face Chief Beck. God, the man's frown must be permanently etched into his face by now. He looks meaner than a junkyard dog.   
  
"Fancy seeing you here, Officer," TJ drawls in an as obnoxious tone as he can manage. "How goes the crime fighting? You run out of donut shops to raid yet?"   
  
A flicker of annoyance crosses the chief's face and TJ relishes it. Of course, that's not enough for him. He always has to make things worse for himself. Impulse gets the better of him and he adds on, "Feel free to pull up a bit of wall. You must need a break from dealing with all those neighborhood disputes about who stole whose prize-winning lawn gnome."   
  
Beck grinds his teeth. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are, kid."   
  
"You sure? But I know so many jokes! My favourite is the Shadyside police department.   
  
Beck's hand shoots out and grabs TJ by the arm. On instinct, he goes stock still and all of a sudden the world is greying around the edges. He doesn't breathe. He's back in his old room and he's never been so afraid. Eyes wide. Pulse doubling. His thoughts roll on a loop.   
  
_'How will I hide the bruises? How will I hide the bruises? How will I hide the bruises? How will I...'_   
  
Beck snatches his hand back like he's been burned, frown relenting into something almost like parental worry and TJ realises he's managed to back himself up so he's pressed against the wall, bracing his whole body for a swing that won't come. They stare at each other. There's no satisfaction at Beck's stunned reaction. Nausea rolls in his gut. He tries to breathe. He tries to remember where he is.

Disgustingly boring as it is Shadyside is safe, he tells himself. His heart is hammering in his chest like a steam train against steel tracks. Forcing himself to unclench his one empty fist, he looks down and watches the skin turn from a stretched out white to an angry red where the half-moon marks of his fingernails indent his palms.  
  
"Kippen?" Beck asks slowly. He does not try to touch him again. The look on his face is one reminiscent of someone trying not to startle a wild animal. Or a frightened teenage boy. TJ takes a long deep breath and loosens the set of his shoulders. So many years of practice make it easy for him to throw up his walls again and he tries for a sneer. It misses the mark - he hopes Beck doesn't notice.

As he throws his arms up in a mock surrender the movement is a little jerky and the exaggerated bravado doesn't quite land. He continues nonetheless. Layering on the bullshit is the best way to escape these situations. He doesn't feel like answering questions right now and Chief looks like the kind of person who wants to ask.   
  
"You caught me, Sir," his voice is hoarse and cracking. "What's the punishment for giving this crack hole a little colour? Twenty-five to life for the murder of a town's reputation as the most boring place in America?"   
  
It's not his best line but it does the job. The look of concern on Beck's face is mostly replaced with irritation and he sighs in disdain.   
  
"Put the paint down," he orders again. "You're coming back to the station."   
  
For a very brief moment if mutinous spite, TJ considers making things worse for himself by giving Beck's uniform some colour but he thinks about how impossible it will be to hang out with Cyrus if his mom actually kills him. And she would. She raised him better than that. She also raised him to be more than a vandal but he chooses to ignore that particular fact for the moment. 

He thinks back to Cyrus’ words.

_“I think they make this town look like it’s lived in.”_

And he finds it hard to dig up any sense of regret.  


 

*******

 

Cyrus has always admired his mom’s ability to know every single thing that goes on in Shadyside but it’s easier to see the things she and the other gossips around town miss now that he’s met TJ. They don’t know about the way he draws, pen swift yet careful against the scratching surface of a sketchbook. Or about his laugh and the way his whole body moves with it, shoulders shaking and eyes lit up when Cyrus says something that he finds particularly funny. They don’t know about the way TJ Kippen looks at him. He’s glad they don’t know these things, especially the last one, but he wishes that when it came to TJ it wasn’t just his misdemeanours and bad reputation that they would talk about. And they _love_ to talk about it.

The Kippens are the hot new topic - front page news of Shadyside’s neighbourhood entertainment.

"I spoke to Chief Beck today," his mom says one Saturday afternoon. She, Cyrus and his stepfather Todd are all gathered in the kitchen, the remnants of their lunch scattered on the plates between them. Her nonchalant tone immediately rings alarm bells in his head. "He was telling me about that Kippen boy again. Apparently, he’s the one behind al the vandalism lately. The chief caught him at it himself.”

Cyrus’ stomach drops. Darn it, TJ. He’d warned him not to get caught.

Todd tuts, rustling the newspaper held out in front of him. “Kids these days. They’ve got no respect for anything.”

“Well, I hear he’s becoming quite a problem at school, getting into fights and such. Can you imagine how his poor mother must feel? Laura was so lovely when I spoke to her. It must be so hard to raise a child on your own. You know there’s no father in the picture.”

“What happened to him?”

“I have no idea. Joanne tried to ask but apparently, Laura just excused herself and left. Of course… it’s not our place to pry, I suppose,” she says this wistfully and Cyrus gets the impression if his mother could turn into a literal fly on the wall she would. She turns to him.  “Cyrus honey, I don’t want you hanging around with that boy. He’s clearly not safe to be around. I heard he hit Donnie Seabrook in the cafeteria a little while back.”

Cyrus tamps down the urge to defend TJ and point out that it wasn’t even him that initiated it in the first place to focus on the matter at hand. He very rarely lies to his mom. The only time he really does it is when he’s downplaying an illness so she won’t worry or when he and his stepfather are scheming to do something nice for her and they don’t want to ruin the surprise. The guilt hits him all at once as he realises he’s going to have to legitimately lie to her, not even just a little white lie, right now.

“I don’t even speak to him, mom,” he says. And he hates the way the words come out so smoothly. He can’t tell if he feels worse because he’s just lied to his mother who doesn’t deserve to be lied to or because he’s letting her believe TJ is as bad as everyone says when he’s not. TJ deserves more than that but if Cyrus admits they’ve been hanging out he really won’t be allowed to see him, not when Chief Beck says it’s a bad idea.

His mom makes a satisfied noise and nods to herself as if mentally checking off the task of ‘make sure my son isn’t hanging around with irresponsible delinquents’ on her to-do list. Cyrus feels like out of all the threats in Shadyside, TJ is probably pretty low on the list, so he ignores the continuing twinge of guilt and strikes up a conversation about the upcoming fall summer festival.

 

***

 

Cyrus is right about there being worse threats in Shadyside, but it’s not he who has to deal with them this time. God, TJ is so damn sick of this town and its theatrics. Why can’t he have one peaceful day where no one gets on his back?

"I'll make your life a living hell, Kippen," Donnie warns, pushing his face in close to TJ's threateningly. The hot breath that hits TJ's face is accompanied by a spray of wet spittle that makes him recoil in disgust.   
  
"You're such a cliche," he snipes back. "What's next, you gonna shove me in a locker?"

It’s the end of the school day and Donnie has TJ backed up against some lockers in an empty hall. TJ had just finished completing his detention - one boring hour of helping scrub off chalkboards in the English rooms - and had come out to find the idiot and his friends waiting for him. Apparently, Donnie didn’t appreciate TJ’s attitude and wanted to make that clear. TJ feels he’s getting his point across pretty well, but he loses points for execution seeing as this whole thing feels like a scene taken right out of a Brat Pack movie.  
  
Donnie snarls and TJ's is absolutely certain he's about to get punched. Adrenaline pumps through him as he prepares to duck.   
  
A cool voice cuts through the hallway. "Is there a problem here?"   
  
Relief washes over him as he looks to the left and sees Bex stood in the doorway of her classroom, arms folded and looking entirely unimpressed by the scene before her. Donnie retreats from TJ's space and slides a horrible fake smile on to his face.   
  
"No problem at all, Ms Mack. Just getting acquainted with the newbie here," he pats TJ on the shoulder. Hard.   
  
There's a fun feeling of satisfaction he gets when he realises that Bex didn't correct Donnie and ask him to call her by her name. She cocks one eyebrow and that's all it takes for Donnie to readjust the bag in his shoulder and walk away, his posse of goons following his lead. TJ straightens and brushes himself down, wiping the spittle from his face with his sleeve. Gross, gross, gross. He's going to need at least three showers now to get the germs off him, lest he gets lunkhead disease from direct contact.   
  
"You alright, TJ?" Bex asks, face softening as the other boys disappear down the end of the hall.   
  
He shrugs. "All good."   
  
She looks like she doesn't believe him but she doesn't push and he's grateful for it. She just turns and moves to head back into her room. Before she can go completely though she pauses, one hand on the doorframe, and looks back at him. "You know you can always come to me if you need to talk."   
  
Unsure of how to respond to that, TJ shifts his feet awkwardly and mumbles, "Thanks." She nods and disappears into the art room. He picks up his bag from the where it's slumped on the floor and shoulders it quickly. Going in the opposite direction to Donnie and his gang is the smartest choice even if it does take twice as long to circle back around to the front of the school so he heads back down the way he came. One day, he’s going to find a way to make sure Donnie never hassles anyone again. One day, karma is going to bite the dude right on the ass. But that day is not today and TJ has better things to do than go peeing in football helmets for revenge or something equally as juvenile. Cyrus would want him to be more creative than that, he thinks.

He’s going to see Cyrus tonight, he decides. He needs something to look forward to. It’s been a bad week.

 

*******

 

Cyrus’ bedroom window is immediately identifiable because of the Ms. Pac-Man stickers he can see stuck in the corner. There’s a light on up there so he must be inside.TJ feels like a bit of a loser creeping around in the yard but it’s not like he’s about to hide in the bushes and push unsettling anonymous messages made from letters cut out of a newspaper through the door. He’s here for a reason. He thanks his blessing for the large and rather climbable tree in the yard because it makes reaching Cyrus’ room that much easier. If it weren’t there he would’ve had to resort to throwing little stones at the glass like the cliche love interest in a romantic comedy and he doesn’t think his dignity could take that.

Cyrus is definitely inside. He’s sprawled across his bed reading a book and he can hear the low murmur of a radio playing in the background. Clinging to the large branch beneath him for dear life, he leans forward and knocks. Cyrus jumps so hard that he almost falls right off the bed and TJ would feel bad if it weren’t so funny. He’s still giggling when Cyrus spots him, comes over to the window and shoves it up with a look of disbelief on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He hisses at TJ. “Why are you in a tree? Do you know how dangerous that is?!”

TJ snorts. “I had to see you. I’ve got a present.” He goes to move forward but he’s so preoccupied with his own amusement that he almost slips and ends up hugging the branch with his heart beating faster than it should.

“Serves you right for scaring me,” Cyrus scolds, biting back his own laughter. “Get in here. Carefully!”

When TJ gets to the windowsill Cyrus all put tugs him through and they end up stumbling back across the floor together. It’s lucky that at least one of them is coordinated because if it weren’t for TJ regaining his balance and grabbing Cyrus by the shoulders the two of them would’ve gone sprawling across the floor and the resulting thump likely would’ve attracted the attention of Cyrus’ parents. They stand there for a stunned moment, chests almost pressed together and breathing hard, while they recover from the shock of it.

“Next time,” Says Cyrus. “Next time, just come through the front door.”

“Wouldn’t your parents notice that?”

“Sneaking by them is easier than you’d expect. And it’s less likely to result in broken bones.”

TJ huffs out a laugh and Cyrus’ lips quirk. He realises suddenly that they’re pressed against one another, he can feel the body heat radiating off him and it does funny things to his pulse, so he clears his throat and takes a step back. “Anyway, uh… sorry for invading. I just wanted to give you something.”

Curiosity makes itself at home on Cyrus’ face. “It’s alright, you made my night less boring at least. What is it?”

From the back pocket of his jeans, TJ pulls out a cassette tape. The case is a vibrant mess of pasted-on doodles and a small tracklist written as neatly as he could do it. He had spent a good few hours making it, collecting some of his very favourite tracks and curating the perfect vibe for it. He wants to show Cyrus why he loves the music that he loves so much. It feels like sharing a part of him that he isn’t yet used to the letting outside world see A thrill of excitement runs through him as he holds it out. Cyrus takes it with careful fingers, a wide smile stretching across his mouth as his eyes scan the case.

“This is for me?” He asks. “You made this for me?”

TJ scratches the back of his neck in a moment of nervous uncertainty and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “I mean, you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want… I know you said this kind of stuff isn’t really your thing, and that’s okay, I just wanted to-”

“I love it.” Cyrus silences him with a look of delight and TJ’s jaw snaps shut. His gaze is so intense it feels like he’s been pinned in place and his breath has been stolen. “I’m going to put it on right now.”

He watches Cyrus stride across the room to his stereo and slips the tape into it with competent fingers. While he’s fiddling with the settings he gestures to the room in general. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a drink or anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” TJ says, half distracted. It’s just hit him that he’s in Cyrus’ bedroom for the first time. He turns in a slow circle taking everything in. After looking at it, he never wants to leave Cyrus’ bedroom. It’s like a physical display of Cyrus’ thoughts and emotions. His walls are covered in posters of Madonna, Cyndi Lauper and Freddie Mercury. There are postcards and polaroids of friends and family members that depict the kind of loving support network he always wished to have himself pinned up above the headboard of his immaculately made bed. Books and empty Cherry Coke cans are scattered across his otherwise tidy desk and a bright red push-button telephone is sat on his bedside table. He wonders how Cyrus’ managed to convince his parents to let him have his own phone… he’d never be allowed that. He and his mom probably couldn’t afford one in the first place.

“Darn,” Cyrus whispers to himself, knocking on the top of the stereo.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just… not cooperating,” he sighs. “Technology hates me.”

“Don’t you have a Walkman?”

“I do, but I wanted to listen to it _with_ you.”

TJ smiles at that, pleased. Cyrus actually wants to spend time with him. He had to admit to himself that he had also been hoping to stay and explain the song choices to Cyrus, to tell him and the history of the bands and the memories that TJ has attached to them. He bites his lip. There’s a solution to this, clear as day, that means they can listen to the tape together but he has no idea if Cyrus will go for it.

He takes a deep breath and hopes he won’t be shot down.

 

***

 

It comes as a surprise to both of them when Cyrus agrees to sneak out. Instead of climbing out through the window like lunatics (because Cyrus is _not_ willing to break his arm for some teenage rebellion thank you very much) they sneak very carefully through the house. His mom and Todd are distracted by the television and it’s easy to slip by the living room unnoticed and out through the front door. TJ tells Cyrus to wait on the curb while he grabs the car, saying he doesn’t want to risk getting Cyrus in trouble too if he gets caught.

“Should we be doing this?” Cyrus whispers as he goes to leave.

TJ grins, lopsided and daring. “If you have to sneak around to do it, it’s probably not something you should be doing. But where’s the fun in that?” And half an hour later they’re cruising down the backroads just outside of town.

They park out in an empty lot by one of the nearby reservoirs this time. Orange street lamps cast a dim glow across the concrete and jump off the flat surface of vast water ahead of them. The entire place is littered with old warehouses and administration buildings whose shadows half cloak the car in a blanket of secrecy. Tape in the cassette player and windows half rolled down to let in the cool night air, the two of them sprawl across the back seats listening to the way Angus Young’s guitar screams against the backdrop of crashing drums.

Cyrus watches TJ’s fingers jump like they’ve got an incurable itch for a couple of moments. “You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m good, you?”

“It’s just… you seem kind of fidgety,” he hopes TJ isn’t bored. He went to all this trouble and Cyrus doesn’t want him to feel like it was for nothing. He likes listening to the way TJ’s voice gets all fond when he describes the meaning behind a lyric or the way the crowd felt when he saw AC/DC play. He must’ve told the story one hundred times before. Cyrus has been hanging on to his every word but the more TJ talks the more aware of how out of his depth he is when it comes to rock music. Maybe TJ’s realised what a loser he is.

TJ smiles and shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s just nicotine cravings.”

Oh.

“Did you forget your cigarettes?”

He frowns at Cyrus, almost confused. “No?”

Cyrus doesn’t get it. “Then why don’t you smoke?”

“Because… you don’t like smoking? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

It’s a strange feeling to have an epiphany about your own emotions just because somebody says they’re considering your feelings. It’s not that TJ hadn’t already looked good before, he definitely had, but at that moment he looks like heaven. Backlit by the light outside which casts the illusion of a halo around his head, Cyrus wonders how long TJ has been making adjustments to his own behaviour for him. Here before him sits a boy that has been willing to punch bullies, risk getting into trouble and make mixtapes for him. Just for him. Up until now, Cyrus didn’t really understand, or maybe he did… just a little. He’s seen it in the way TJ looks at him, in the things he does, and in the art he creates. Sat there, in the backseat of a beat-up car listening to old music at one in the morning, he realises that this is the safest he’s ever felt with anyone outside of his own family. TJ is safe. TJ does not think he is a loser. TJ cares about him.

He cares about him so much more than he first thought.

“What’re you giving me that look for?” He asks, nudging Cyrus’ knee.

“No reason,” except that his heart is going double speed in staccato beats and the inside of TJ’s denim jacket looks like it would be the most comfortable place in the world. “Just having fun is all.”

A couple more songs go by and Cyrus wonders if time has stopped just for them. It certainly feels that way. There are no words to express how he’s feeling right now other than elevated. He wants to show TJ that he cares too.

Before he can say anything about it though, TJ surprises him.

“So you know when you asked about that picture in my room?” He says, breaking the easy quiet in a snap. Cyrus has never seen him look truly afraid before but he thinks that’s what this is right now. TJ isn’t looking his way, he’s staring out the window and picking at his jeans. He itches to take TJ’s hand and hold it steady, but refrains.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh…” he shifts, uncomfortable. “Sorry. I’ve never really talked about this…”

“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “I do. I do want to. I trust you. So like, you know how my dad wasn’t in the picture.”

That curious question burns on the tip of his tongue once again and he wonders if he’s about to get an answer.

“Just your uncle and mom, right?”

“Yeah… so,” he swallows so hard it’s noticeable. He’s still not looking at Cyrus. “So like. My dad isn’t around anymore because he’s in jail. He was not a good person. Is not a good person. He used to- anyway, yeah. No. He’s not around anymore. We moved in with my uncle because it made my mom feel safer. I just… I wanted you to know.”

That’s when Cyrus decides to suck it up. He reaches out and takes TJ’s twitching hand, wrapping his own around it with careful fingers. TJ’s head snaps around to look at him in surprise, gaze flickering from their hands to Cyrus’ face.

“Thank you for telling me. It means a lot that you’d trust me like that.”

He gets a weak smile in return and TJ squeezes his hand. Neither of them let go.

Cyrus continues. “Can I just ask… is there any particular reason you wanted me to know?”

TJ looks away again. There’s a moment of heavy silence and Cyrus begins to think maybe he pushed too far, maybe that was all TJ was willing to give right now and he shouldn’t have asked, but then...

"When I look in the mirror I see my father," TJ admits quietly. "I hate it. Every day I look more and more like him. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to anything like him."  
  
Cyrus’ heart clenches. The anguish that’s clear on TJ’s face doesn’t belong there and suddenly he’s angry all over again at this town and the reputation they’ve given him. He thinks about his mother saying TJ is violent and dangerous. About Chief Beck complaining that he didn’t belong. He wants to scream at everyone who dares say a bad word about TJ Kippen.

"You're not," he says softly. "You're not your father and you never will be, no matter how similar the two of you look. You're a good man, TJ." Then he makes a decision. “Since we’re sharing things… can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone either?”

“You can tell me anything.”

“... I think I’m gay.”

There’s a brief flash of regret as he says the words but it’s soon replaced by the overwhelming feeling of relief. He’s never said those words out loud before. He’s barely even admitted it to himself. He still pushes down those thoughts. He still worries that he’s broken.

But not as much when he’s around TJ.

TJ looks at him now. There’s no disgust on his face, he does not pull his hand away, there’s only a soft smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

 

*******

 

The night feels holy and that is terrifying to TJ. The later it gets the more he wants to crack himself open and show Cyrus every messy thought and feeling rolling around inside of him. Any fear of sending the other boy running away screaming when he mentions his dad disappears at the squeeze of his hand.

And then Cyrus tells him his own secret and they’re on even footing. Protected and vulnerable have never been two things that TJ believed could be put together, but it’s how he feels right now.

“How’d you know you were… how’d you know you like boys?” Cyrus asks him a little while later. It’s closing on half two and they should probably head back eventually but there’s a deep-seated reluctance to leave his side set in him.

TJ shrugs. “I think I’ve always known,” and it’s the truth. It never occurred to him that it was unusual until he hit his mid-teens and had the fun introduction to homophobic slurs that is high school. “What about you?”

Cyrus worries at his lip a little, eyes darting around. “You promise not to laugh?”

“Cross my heart.”

“I got a crush on Jonah in middle school,” he admits.

TJ purses his lips in amusement and looks away. He doesn’t know why that’s so funny. Probably because Jonah struts around school saying words like ‘gnarly’ and ‘bodacious’ on a regular basis and his pants are so baggy they look like they’re constantly on the verge of falling down. He’s cute but he’s not the kind of guy he’d expect Cyrus to go for. No, he imagines Cyrus being interested in the kind of guy suited to heading to an Ivy League school and a solid career in his future, not Jonah Beck. And not himself, for that matter.

Which is a shame because… well.

Cyrus smacks his shoulder. “It’s not funny! Anyway, I think I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening for a while but it was… hard.”

“It’s not all that easy to ignore,” TJ agrees. “You still like him?”

He shakes his head. Relief washes over TJ.

“If it helps,” TJ adds. “I think I hit a stretch where I tried to be straight, but turns out kissing girls isn’t really my thing… I think once you’ve kissed a guy then it’s hard to go back. At least it was for me.”

It’s like the air is sucked out of the car. Cyrus goes from joking and relaxed to tense and awkward in a matter of seconds. TJ looks at him in concern, worried that he’s made him uncomfortable.

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“No!” Cyrus assures him. There’s a pause. “No… I just.”

He waits, patient and understanding, for Cyrus to find his words. He watches as he nods to himself slightly as if coming to a decision and then swallows. His brown eyes meet TJ’s - they’re completely captivating. TJ’s pulse starts to race. He knows what Cyrus is about to say.

And he knows what he’s going to say in return.

"I've never kissed a boy before."

There it is.

"You could.” TJ breathes, heart pounding. “You could kiss me."

“Are you sure?” Cyrus’ voice is so quiet now TJ can barely hear him. He nods.

The air almost crackles with the tension between them. It feels alive and electric. The world narrows down to just TJ and Cyrus and the leather seats of the car. TJ can’t take his eyes off Cyrus as he leans in. He holds his breath. Cyrus tilts his head slightly and closes his eyes, so TJ lets his fall shut too. Their noses bump together a little, forcing small huffs of laughter to mingle in the space between their mouths, and then they TJ presses their lips together. He’s unable to stop himself from raising his hands to cup Cyrus’ face. One, two, three light kisses in quick succession, so soft and chaste it feels like heaven.

It’s completing intoxicating. It’s too much and not enough all at once. He wants so much but he doesn’t want to scare Cyrus. Admittedly, he’s a little scared himself. But then Cyrus presses forward, eager and enthusiastic as he slides his hands up into TJ’s hair. This is so right. How could anything this perfect ever be considered wrong? TJ lets out a happy sigh and parts his lips. Cyrus all but slides right into his lap. The tender kisses become fervent and they both melt into it. TJ has kissed plenty of people before but it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt so intimate… so addictive. Cyrus’ warm body pressed against his, the sweet taste of his lips, the fist he has knotted in the front of TJ’s shirt - God, he never wants it to end.

So, of course, it has to end.

There’s a sharp tap on the window, and a sudden blinding light illuminates the interior of the car. They jolt apart, breathing hard and turn to the source.

Chief Beck stands outside looking just as shocked as they are.

  



	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thank you for all the encouragement people have been sending me! It's nice to know you guys enjoy this story.
> 
> A special shoutout to @millabloop on tumblr for this [incredible art](http://millabloop.tumblr.com/post/183060224022/1986-by-captainkippen-go-read-it-right) of 1986 TJ! Honestly, it's stunning. I've never had anyone do art of my writing before so it was super cool to see.

As he slides back through his own bedroom window that night, TJ’s heart has barely slowed from a panicked thrum to its normal rate. The world feels tilted on its axis in a most unpleasant way. As he sits down on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes he thinks over the events of the night. The beautiful glow of the streetlights, the elated look in Cyrus’ eyes, the feeling of their lips pressed together. A perfect night.

Until they were interrupted.

Once the surprise had worn off, Beck's face slipped into an expression of mild disbelief and disappointment. He tapped on the edge of the window with the flashlight, sighed and ordered them both to get out of the car. Cyrus had gone without any hesitation and for a moment TJ had been tempted to stop him, fearful of what could happen next. It didn't seem like Beck was going to cause any trouble but the whole situation had TJ in fight or flight mode. Suddenly every slur and every hit from the past were vivid memories in his mind that he couldn't shut off. As he followed Cyrus out of the car he had his fists clenched so right his knuckles has gone white. Cyrus wouldn't look at him. He wouldn't look at either of them.   
  
"Does your mother know you're out?" Beck had asked in concern, frowning when Cyrus shook his head in one small jerky motion. "Hell. It's almost three in the morning. Do you know how stupid sneaking out like this was? What if you'd gotten into an accident or gotten stranded. What were you going to do then, huh? What would your folks have said if they woke up and found you missing? I  thought you were more responsible than this, Cyrus. And you-"   
  
Beck rounded on TJ. He was getting himself worked up into a truly parental rage, hands on hips and scowl in place. He almost made TJ want to take a step back. "What have I told you- don't you think it's bad enough getting yourself in trouble? Why d'you got to drag him into this? Don't pretend like this wasn't your idea either. Do you know you two are technically trespassing right now? I literally have grounds to arrest you."    
  
He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. TJ could still feel his pulse pounding thrumming double-time.    
  
"I'm not going to, though because I'm tired and I would like to go home and seeing as this is Cyrus' first offence I don't imagine he'll want a repeat, right?"   
  
"Yes, Sir," Cyrus mumbled.   
  
"Good. Now, Kippen, you're going to get in your car and drive straight home. Alright? I’ll know if you don’t. Cyrus, you're coming with me."   
  
"Where are we going?"   
  
"I'm taking you home too. I just don't want any funny business or detours on the way."   
  
Cyrus didn't look at TJ as he got in Beck's car. His face was still a worrying shade of white. He didn't say goodbye. TJ drove home alone, practically on autopilot, trying to settle the cocktail mix of panicked feelings in his body. A perfect night ruined.

He sets about trying to calm his nerves again. He takes a shower as quietly as possible and grabs a glass from the kitchen but there's a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that won't go away no matter how much water he drinks. He keeps thinking about the fear in Cyrus’ eyes when he realised who had found them. The way that Cyrus wouldn't look at him at all after. He thinks about his own fear and how much worse it must be for Cyrus, a boy who has grown up around Chief Beck and is barely even out to himself. He probably blames TJ. And he'd be right to. It's TJ's fault they were out there, his suggestion to go for a drive and to park where they did. It's TJ's influence that for Cyrus to this point. Christ, maybe the adults were right. Maybe he's just bad for the people around him. He won't blame Cyrus if he hates him. He won't be surprised if he never talks to him again.  

He shouldn't have to talk to him again.

TJ makes a rule for himself; he's going to leave Cyrus alone. He's already gotten him into enough trouble and he doesn't deserve to get dragged down with TJ in his agenda to escape Shadyside. Cyrus has been nothing but good to him. He deserves the same kind of consideration from TJ.

 

*******

 

TJ's pretty good at playing by his own rules at the end of the day, but he should've known that wouldn't apply to Cyrus Goodman. He means to keep away, he really does, but he can't help keeping an eye on him around school. He doesn't approach him, he doesn't make eye contact, but he does watch. Cyrus laughs along with his friends and his smiles don't quite reach his eyes. Annoyance flits through TJ when he notices the others talking over him at lunch or rolling their eyes at Cyrus. Realistically, he knows they're probably not doing it on purpose but it grates on him anyway. If that were him he'd be hanging on to every word that came out of Cyrus' mouth.    
  
Okay, so it's a little bit harder to give him up than he first expected. It would be even harder were it the case that Cyrus wanted to talk to him but it doesn't seem to be that way and that's about the only thing stopping TJ from knocking on the Goodman's front door and asking for him.   
  
Cyrus doesn't even look in his direction in the days following their kiss. He's not surprised. It's just what he expected to happen and that's why he  _ doesn't _ expect it to hurt so much. It sends a sharp unpleasant pang through his chest every time he thinks about it. He wonders to what extent he's messed it all up and if he's ruined things beyond repair. He can't even ask Cyrus what happened with the Chief after he left. He can't ask him if he's okay.    
  
It makes him want to break his own promise but he knows that won't do anything good - he wouldn't even know what to say. He can't do anything. He wishes it didn't bother him so much.   
  
It all comes to head a few days later when TJ turns the corner to the smoking alleyway and finds Cyrus pinned to the wall by Donnie. His goons stand a few feet away, laughing around their own cigarettes while Donnie snarls into Cyrus' face. Whatever he's saying it's clear that it isn't an invitation to a tea party. The malicious grin on his face makes TJ think of the Joker from Batman. There's not a single one of Cyrus' friends in sight. They must've caught him when he was walking to class alone.    
  
Cyrus looks scared. He's trembling and shying away from Donnie's face as it gets closer to his own. The way Donnie has him pinned looks like it's going to cause bruising.   
  
TJ sees red.   
  
He doesn't even remember moving his feet, he's just there all of a sudden grabbing the back of Donnie's jacket and yanking him away. The force of it sends Donnie stumbling back and he barely manages to stay on his feet. There's a snarling noise and he's not sure if it came from him or one of the several assholes around him but he doesn't much care. He lunges for Donnie at the same time Donnie comes for him.   
  
It's like that day back in the cafeteria but angrier. Everything is shaded in a hazy hue and TJ swings as hard as he can. There's a lot of yelling and the sound of running footsteps coming towards them. In the distance, he thinks he can hear Cyrus pleading with him to stop but he's too focused on the feeling of Donnie's fist connecting with his jaw to really pay attention. It's not like last time. It does nothing to snap him out of it. He's already lost Cyrus anyway. He messed that up. He doesn't need to standby and let these things happen now; this isn't the time to protect somebody else's pride.   
  
He's not sure how they end up on the ground but they do, they roll around scrapping ferociously until somehow he manages to gain the upper hand despite Donnie outweighing him and sits on his chest to lay a firm hit into his face.   
  
Then somebody has a grip on his arms - no, wait, two people have a grip on him - and he's being hailed back still swinging. Donnie groans from the floor but lurches up to try and get at TJ again; he's grabbed and pulled back by his friends before he can.    
  
"Are you fucking crazy?!" Someone is shouting in his ear and TJ turns to see Reed on his right, clutching his arm and grinning so delightedly for a moment TJ wants to punch him too. It's Jonah Beck who has his other arm and the two of them hold him firm until he stops struggling and relaxes in defeat. They must have come looking for Cyrus.   
  
There's still shouting - clearly, they attracted some attention. A spatter of blood is sprayed along the ground like it's right out of a movie scene and TJ realises with a start that his mouth is bleeding. He spits - it comes out red.   
  
He can't help that the first words to tumble out of his mouth are, "Is Cyrus okay?"   
  
Jonah and Reed both look at him like he's nuts, and it takes him a moment to remember that in their world TJ Kippen has no reason to be concerned about the welfare of Cyrus Goodman or, well... anybody in Shadyside really. It must strike them as odd. He uses their surprise to shake them off and scan the crowd. Cyrus stands by the wall looking unharmed but shaken with Buffy and Andi checking on him.    
  
"He's fine," Jonah replies with a frown. "What were you-"   
  
TJ ignores him, grabs his bag from the ground and takes off. There's no staff on the scene but he knows, without doubt, there will be soon and he has no plans to stick around for them to arrive. Cyrus is okay and that's all that matters.   
  
God, Cyrus. He probably thinks TJ is a psycho now. Maybe he'd be right to.

 

*******

 

The house is blissfully empty when he arrives home and TJ’s glad because he’s certain if his mom saw the state of him right now she’d have a fit. Now the adrenaline has died down and he can feel pain again he’s all too aware of the aching throb of his busted lip, the bruise on his jaw and his battered torso. It feels a little like he walked in front of a bulldozer and got mowed down. The blood tastes like sharp copper on his tongue and he knows he’s lucky he didn’t lose any teeth. Was it a good idea to lose it like that again on school property? No. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Violence is never the answer but over the years he’s found that it’s the only language that bullies understand.

He throws his bag down on to his bed and heads to the bathroom to shower. Warm water will dull the ache and wash away the mess. He’s going to have to wash his t-shirt at least three times he can already tell. He’s not sure if it’s his blood or Donnie’s on it - he doesn’t want to take any chances. No Donnie Seabrook cooties allowed. The shower almost relaxes him, which is why it’s a shock to find Cyrus in his room when he returns. He’s lounging by the window with a face full of thunder and clearly, he’s decided to take a leaf from TJ’s book. TJ doesn’t know what to do so he just looks at him and waits for the silence to be broken.

  
"You didn't have to do that." Those are not the words he thought he was going to hear.   
  
TJ stares at him in disbelief for a moment and then coughs and looks away. "I didn't do it for you."   
  
It's then that Cyrus decides to take TJ by surprise - he really wishes he'd stop doing that - and responds with, "That's bullshit."   
  
He's never heard Cyrus swear before.   
  
"What?"   
  
"You heard me."   
  
"Wow, you sure do think highly of yourself, huh?"   
  
Unimpressed. Cyrus almost mirrors the look that his mother gives him when he crawls into the house late at night and argues with her about where he's been. TJ sighs. "What, was I supposed to leave you there? He had you up against a wall, Cyrus."   
  
"I could've handled it."   
  
"Oh yeah, looked like you were doing a fine job of dealing with it. What was your next move going to be? Dislocate your own shoulders and slip outta his grip like Houdini?"   
  
"I've been looking out for myself forever here and I've done it just fine. I don't need you to protect me!"   
  
Ouch. That one stings. TJ can't stop himself from physically flinching. A nice reminder that Cyrus doesn't want him around is just what he needs; it'll keep him from falling back under the illusion that he's necessary again.   
  
Cyrus huffs like he knows what he's thinking. "Don't pull that face. You don't get to just... drop off the map and ignore me for a week then pretend as if you care."   
  
He stares at him again. What the hell? "Wait, what? You think I've been ignoring you?"   
  
"You haven't spoken to me since the night in the car!"   
  
"I haven't- what are you talking about? Yours the one who's been blanking me! You haven't even looked at me. Don't try and turn this around on me,” TJ fumes.   
  
"You made it pretty clear you didn't want to talk! I tried to find you and you basically disappeared. Who does that? Who does that, TJ?!"   
  
It's only when he notices Cyrus' shoulders heaving breathlessly that TJ realises they've both been shouting. Then it hits him like a truck; they're both damn fools. They’ve both spent the past week convincing themselves of the same thing - that the other wants nothing to do with them. A small hysterical giggle slips out and Cyrus looks so affronted by it that it just makes him laugh more. TJ shakes his head and shrugs, then settles himself down on the edge of his bed and puts his head in his hands.   
  
"Oh my God, we're both so stupid."

“Speak for yourself,” Cyrus grumbles but he sits down next to him and TJ takes that as a win. There are a few moments of silence as they both calm down, TJ pressing down on the bubbles of amusement welling up inside of him. Jeez, what idiots.

“Gay panic really does cause a riot, huh?”

Cyrus lets out a noise that’s almost a laugh and doesn’t pull away when TJ knocks their knees together. 

“I’m sorry for disappearing,” TJ says. “It wasn’t the best way to handle it. I just… I thought maybe I screwed it up, with Beck catching us and getting you into trouble and-”

“Just stop,” Cyrus holds up a hand and TJ pauses. “Stop for a moment. You don’t need to- you thought you were protecting me, didn’t you?”

Silence.

He gives him a look so soft TJ has to look away again. 

“You don’t need to protect me from yourself, TJ.”

He doesn’t know what it is about those words but they lift a heavy weight from TJ’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realised were there. He looks back and Cyrus is watching him with careful eyes; the sincerity in them is startling. He falls a little harder in that moment - he's in a little deeper.

He's a goner.

“I don’t wanna fuck this up,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to get fucked up because of me.”

“You won’t. I’m not-,” he sighs. “I’m not something to be broken. I told you before… you’re not your dad. You never will be because you care too much for that to happen. You’re a good person, even if you don’t believe it.”

TJ shakes his head. “But… you saw what I did today.”

As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, as much as he thinks Donnie Seabrook deserved every ounce of anger directed at him earlier, TJ still feels slightly sickened by himself over the whole thing. It’s less the hitting Donnie and more the lack of control. It scares him. 

“Yeah, you stepped in to save me. He was going just as hard at you, TJ. You gave him a taste of his own medicine. He’s been tormenting and beating up kids for ages, you were just responding to that.”

“I never want to be that angry again…” he twists his fists in the bedsheets at the thought. “It’s just- your face, Cy. I saw that he was hurting you and I just lost it. It’s like it wasn’t even me.”

“I won’t deny it was stupid, and there were definitely better ways to handle it than getting your face busted again, but…” Cyrus shrugs. “You’re okay, TJ. Can we clean you up properly now, though? Because I think you need a bandaid. Or eighty.”

“You’re staying?” He asks in surprise.

“No duh,” Cyrus says as if it were obvious. TJ smiles.

“Bandaids are in the kitchen.”

“I’ll go and grab them,” Cyrus leans forward and plants a soft kiss on his cheek and then gets up to head out the door.

They talk about Chief Beck as Cyrus inspects his face with the gentle care of somebody who’s patched up too many injuries in the past. Apparently, he hadn’t said much on the ride home the other night, but as he had dropped Cyrus off he’d told him to take care of himself and that he’d always be there to talk if he needed. TJ mulls this over later when he’s alone; everyone in this town just keeps surprising him. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

  
*******

 

On the last day of school, Cyrus finds a note slipped in his locker. It flutters out when he opens it and he has to lean down to retrieve it fast before anyone sees. He recognises the handwriting in an instant - it’s the messy scrawl that belongs to TJ. He smiles to himself as he unfolds it.

**_‘Date tonight? Meet me after school.’_ ** it says. There’s a small cartoon drawing of a milkshake with two straws and Cyrus’ smile grows even wider. A date. TJ wants to go on an actual date with  _ him _ . Cyrus never thought he’d be in the position to be receiving cute notes from cute guys asking him out on cute dates. He hadn’t even let himself think about it before he met TJ. Now, the idea fills his stomach with a frenzy of excited fluttering butterflies. He clutches the note close to his chest and closes his locker, forgetting all about the books he was meant to be retrieving for his last class. A date with TJ tonight will mean he’ll have to skip out on his friends’ annual end of year celebration at the diner but he’s sure they won’t notice him missing. He’ll make an excuse of having to help his mom out or being too tired or something. They have the whole summer stretching ahead of them to celebrate being out of school anyway.

Oh. The whole summer. That’s a lot of time for dates too. Cyrus wonders if he could convince TJ to come and hang out down by the lake with him. Maybe they could go on a picnic and watch the fireflies when they come out in the evening. They could have a campfire and toast marshmallows and maybe he could even get him to go rollerblading. That’s the best thing about summers; they make it feel like you have all the time in the world to live your life.

He wanders to class in a floating daze, daydreaming about the weeks to come. 

 

*******

 

The sun is beating down on the world when Cyrus finds TJ leaning against his car after school. The parking lot has cleared out most of its occupants, he’d lingered in the bathroom after the final bell for a little longer than necessary to make sure he could get out without being ambushed by Andi and Buffy as they made a last ditched attempt to get him to hang out with them that evening, and the hazy afternoon seems narrowed down to the two of them. When their eyes meet TJ beams at him and strolls forward, taking Cyrus’ bag from him to put in the trunk and letting him climb into the passenger seat without saying anything. He waits until TJ’s closing the door after himself to say anything.

“So, milkshakes?”

“Milkshakes,” TJ agrees. “Then I wanna take you somewhere if you’re okay with that?”

Curiosity bites. “Depends on where.”

“The city.”

Cyrus raises his eyebrows. Forty minutes isn’t that far a drive but for a date it seems like a long way to go. He’s only been into the city a few times before in his life; he and his friends have always been content to find things to do in and around local areas and most of their folks aren’t willing to drive them that far so it was never a place to go for hangouts.

“There’s this place I used to go,” TJ continues as he checks his mirrors. “It’s really cool and I think you might like it. What are your thoughts on dancing?”

“I’m a pro at it in my bedroom but I don’t think an audience would agree.” There’s that dopey grin again. Cyrus would agree to anything to see that smile. It makes him feel all too distracted and pleased with himself. “Why?”

“It’s a club.”

“Oh.” He’s never been to a club before.

“Is that okay? We don’t have-”

Something about TJ makes Cyrus want to push his own limits and move out of his comfort zone. He’s already started and he’s not about to stop now. 

“I want to go.”

“You do?”

“Yes. But… how late will we be out? I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”

TJ shrugs. “I got my mom’s permission to use the car this time, I swear. I promised her I’d be back home by one thirty at least.”

“She knows about the club?”

He shakes his head. “She thinks I’m going to hang out with friends. You think you’d be able to get away with that? I don’t want to get  _ you  _ into any more trouble.”

“I’ll tell mom I’m going to one of the others’,” he says. “It’s not unusual.”

“Yeah? Awesome,” TJ smiles and starts the car. Cyrus fiddles with the controls until he can convince the cassette player to kick into action, then he leans back and rolls down the window. The breeze on his skin, the warmth from the sun, the sound of TJ singing along (badly) to the tracks playing; everything feels so right. He smiles in content and closes his eyes. It’s going to be a good summer.

 

*******

 

After playing footsie for a good hour at the mall while sipping on thick milkshakes, Cyrus uses a payphone to call his mom and tell her he won’t be home until late and then they head off on their adventure. Milkshakes and dancing seem pretty good for an official first date; an actual teenage experience that he thought he would never get to have. Every time he looks at TJ he remembers that this is something he can have now, this is something he wants and he’s not alone in it, no matter how weird it’s made him feel in the past. He’s happy and he feels it like it’s a living thing sitting with a warm glow in his chest when TJ holds his hand. They park in a half-empty lot and get out to walk. Cyrus follows TJ through a maze of dirty streets and grimy back alleys. It isn't the most romantic location in the world but Cyrus has only been in the city a few times before and he's never been here at night. It's different at night. A dark kind of chaos. It feels awake in a way that Shadyside never does at this time in the evening. The smell of sewage fills the air and makes him wrinkle his nose and he has to step around puddles that he's not completely certain are just rainwater. The distant sound of sirens and drunk hollering, coupled with the buzzing of the flickering street lights around them, have the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He's all too aware that they shouldn't be here, that they shouldn't be out doing this, but that only makes it into a strange kind of thrill. The excitement is undeniable and the fascination with his surroundings only grows as a result of it. He and TJ walk as close as they can, shoulders and hands brushing, and he pulls back on the temptation to entwine their fingers. He suspects TJ is doing the same.

Eventually, they start to slow down and TJ has a look on his face that Cyrus has to smile at. It's sheer bliss like he knows his place in the world and he's happy about it, and he's never seen him look this comfortable anywhere before. Ahead of them is a grey building scattered with small graffiti tags and trash. Outside it stands a group of people chattering and smoking, all of them dressed like they want to make an impression, and a short line outside a door manned by a big muscled bouncer in a black vest.

“This is one of my favourite places,” TJ says, tugging him towards the door. “I think you'll like it.”

They surpass the line outside completely and the bouncer nods as TJ, waving him through in a friendly manner. Cyrus wonders how often TJ must have come here before he moved. It hits him all of a sudden that this entire time TJ has been sliding into his world, it's never been the other way around. The closest he's gotten to seeing TJ's actual life is through glimpses of his art and bedroom. 

It feels like he's about to enter Wonderland.

The innocuousness of the exterior is such a contrast with the way it feels inside; alive and with nobody hiding. It's packed with warm bodies and the atmosphere is alight with laughter, voices singing along to the music that the DJ pumps out and a vibrant feeling of euphoria. Here people are free to shed their masks and just exist. Here people feel like they can breathe.

  
Cyrus takes it all in, suddenly feeling like he's coming up for air after a long dive underwater. From the corner of his eye, he can see TJ grinning as flashes of pink and blue lighting up his face on and off. The ceiling is a blur of neon and it creates a strange effect on his eyes making it look as if the crowd is moving in stop motion. The stench of smoke and sweat can't be ignored and he’s a little anxious about it but Cyrus lets TJ take his hand and pull him in anyway. Together they push through the crush of bodies towards the bar. He’s barely paying attention to where they’re walking, eyes caught on the backcombed big hair and bright makeup that a few of the women wear. They look like they wandered out of a punk fashion magazine, bringing pages to the people and turning the dancefloor into a glittering mess. It’s enchanting. He wishes he could wear such bold things and still look as if he didn’t care what anyone thought.

When they reach the bar, TJ stands up on his tiptoes and leans over to catch the eye of a bartender. Cyrus is expecting it to take longer than it does to get their attention and he realises quite suddenly that TJ must know the guys making drinks because it only takes about two seconds for them to make their way over. There’s two of them, and they look pleased to see him. Over the booming music, Cyrus can’t hear what’s being said but TJ gestures at him and the two bartenders’ grins widen as they turn to him. Cyrus flushes, unsure of what to do, and TJ leans down to say something.

“Jeff and Cory,” he says, pointing to the guys. “They were a couple of years ahead of me at school. They’re probably the only reason I survived Sophomore year.”

Cyrus waves at them and smiles in as friendly a manner as he can manage while being jostled by other patrons. He’s still overwhelmed, more on the side of good than not but it’s a lot to take in. At first, as Cory turns to start making drinks, he worries that he’ll have to ruin TJ’s fun and remind him that he’s driving, but TJ just slides the drink towards Cyrus and accepts the next - a glass of coke - for himself. The drink in front of Cyrus is the kind of bright that makes it look like a potion from a fairytale. He looks at it and then shoots a questioning look at TJ who shrugs back at him.

“It’s purple rain! Cory thinks you’ll like it. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want, I can get him to make something else, they do lemonade and stuff-” there’s an anxious edge to TJ’s tone like he’s worrying that Cyrus will feel pressured to do something he doesn’t want to. Cyrus quirks his eyebrow and takes a sip; he doesn’t need TJ to protect him.

Flavour bursts across his tongue in a sweet explosion and he can’t help but make a noise of happy surprise. TJ’s shoulders relax.

“Good, right?”

Cyrus nods. It really is. “Tastes like candy! I didn’t know alcohol could be this nice.”

“Cocktails are always good,” comes a gruff voice from beside him, making him jump. He turns to see Jeff wiping down the bar looking amused. “Glad you like it. Is this your first time to a club?”

Cyrus nods again.

“I thought so, you got that small town green look about you. You know, you’re the first person TJ’s ever brought with him. He usually comes stag. You must be pretty special to him.”

There’s something warning about Jeff’s tone and Cyrus suspects he’s being threatened not to hurt TJ. It’s almost laughable... as if he has that kind of power. Still, it’s nice to see somebody so obviously protective of him. It reminds him again of how little he knows about TJ’s life before Shadyside. Did he have a lot of people looking out for him like Jeff and Cory? How many friends did he leave behind? Were any of them going to come and visit or was TJ’s life going to be made up of sneaking away to the city every chance he got for the next year if his plan to return home for good didn’t pan out?

Cyrus takes a big gulp of his drink and sets it down.

“Keep an eye on that,” Jeff nods to the drink. “Don’t drink anything you’ve set down without watching. If you want a new one just ask, they’re on us tonight.”

“Thanks, J,” TJ says with a grateful smile. Jeff nods to him and turns back to the other customers waiting with not-so-patient frowns on their faces. “Cy, you wanna dance?”

He agrees without hesitation because the thought of witnessing TJ on the dancefloor is one he never imagined would play out in the real world. The image is a little hilarious, so he lets him take his hand and pull him into the throng of people. Much to his surprise, TJ looks exceedingly comfortable on the dancefloor. Cyrus is enraptured by the sight of him as they move. He closes his eyes and it’s like he gets lost in the music, paying no mind to the crowd around them, holding Cyrus’ hands and pulling him closer right there in front of everybody. Nobody bats an eyelid. No one cares. Here they are free.

Kiss by Prince comes on and Cyrus almost loses his mind. It’s one of those songs he loves to throw himself about to in his bedroom when he’s in a good mood, using his hairbrush as a microphone when he sings along and pretending he’s performing on stage. TJ opens his eyes and grins at him like he knows what he’s thinking. Feeling bold, Cyrus pulls him even closer and slides his arms around his neck. There’s nothing like a little bit of Prince to give a person some courage. They sing along together, eyes never breaking contact, and he never wants this feeling to end. It’s like seeing in colour the first time.

Cyrus has never felt as strongly about anyone as he does about this boy in front of him.

 

*******

 

After a few hours, they make their way outside back into the cool night air. The two of them are both covered in sweat and glitter which Cyrus can’t remember getting on his skin. Having gone back for a couple more drinks while they were dancing he’s all loose limbs and laughter as they wander back to the car. Cory and Jeff had bid them a cheerful goodbye as they left, telling them both to stay safe and drive carefully. TJ has one arm wrapped around him as they go, allowing Cyrus to stumble along with little trouble, and it feels like the night is far from over.

They end up sprawled on the hood of the car eating fries from a nearby twenty-four-hour burger joint and laughing about the people they’d bumped into in the club. There had been one particularly memorable moment where a very drunk young woman had come over to try and convince TJ to sell her his jacket. Cyrus teases him for being so attached to it and it’s with a soft smile that TJ explains it had belonged to his uncle. Cyrus runs his fingers along the edge of it, toying with the soft denim and tracing the sewn on patches. It’s so TJ.

“Tonight was so good,” he says. “I had fun. Thank you for bringing me.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I used to come here a lot to get away,” TJ replies, leaning back on his elbows while Cyrus steals a fry from his lap. “For a while, it felt like the only place in the world I could be myself.”

“No one else knew about it?”

“Only Jimmy… he followed me out here after a fight with my ma once, brought me home,” TJ shrugs. “He didn’t care, just wanted to make sure I was safe.”

“You always sound so happy when you talk about him.”

“Yeah… I guess he was sort of a stand-in for my dad… even before he got put away. Jimmy was always looking after us, y’know? He’s the one who called the cops in the end… when I was fourteen. Got worried when my mom wasn’t answering his calls one day.”

“You mentioned your dad before, that he wasn’t a good person… I don’t want to overstep, but can I ask what happened? Like, why he went to jail?” Cyrus asks, rubbing his thighs slightly anxiously. “If you don’t want to-

“It’s fine. I trust you,” TJ takes a deep breath and looks away from Cyrus, his fingers shake a little as he lifts them to the buttons on his shirt. He tugs the collar away from his throat, popping the buttons open as he talks. “He used to drink a lot… too much. And, uh.”

Cyrus can’t help but let out a small gasp as TJ pulls open his shirt. From his just below his right collarbone, down to the middle of his chest, runs a long jagged line of shining puckered skin. 

“It’s not the only one, but it’s the worst. Yet another reason I don’t like looking at myself in the mirror,” he says all too drily and rebuttons the shirt. “The night the cops came he was angrier than usual. I don’t even know what set him off that time. He… he pushed my mom back so hard her head broke a mirror. I thought he was going to kill her and I-”

With alarm, Cyrus realises that TJ is wiping his eyes. He takes his hand.

“-I thought he was going to kill us. I couldn’t even do anything. I was too scared. I think I still am some days.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Cyrus almost whispers. He can’t imagine going through something like that. His parents may not have had the happiest marriage before they split, but at least he knew they both loved him. He couldn’t imagine his own father raising a hand to him, especially not like that. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry,” Cyrus pulls him in close and wraps his arms around him. TJ goes easily and sighs into the crook of his neck. “You’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about that ever again.”

“I think I’m starting to get that now,” TJ mumbles. “You’re… I’m glad I met you. You’re important.”

Cyrus looks up to the sky above them, the clouds and the light pollution of the city hide any stars they would’ve seen back in Shadyside. He never thought he’d be here, lying on the hood of a car with a boy that makes his heart hammer, thanking whatever path that led him to this moment. There's a lot of things that Cyrus doesn't know about the boy lying next to him, but the one thing he's certain about is this; TJ Kippen is in his life for good now.

 

*******

 

Though he doesn't particularly like to admit it, TJ is afraid of a lot of things. He's afraid of the corners in a too-dark room and what may be lurking in them. He's afraid of the sound of his father's footsteps coming up the stairs. He's afraid of disappointing his mother. But the worst thing, the thing that he's most terrified of out of everything in this world, is himself. Lying there under the stars, cold metal of the hood underneath them and Cyrus' warm hand intertwined with his, TJ can no longer ignore the truth; he's not scared when he's with Cyrus. When they're together it's almost like he's happy. He wishes they didn’t have to go home. 

Wait, _home_.

He sits up, panic hitting. “Shit, what time is it?” 

Cyrus frowns and looks at his watch. TJ doesn’t enjoy the way his eyes widen. “Almost one, oh shoot.”

“We gotta go!”

TJ practically has his foot on the floor as they gun it home. He’s broken a lot of promises to his mother as of late but tonight was something he wanted to do right. He’s been thinking since he and Cyrus made up that maybe it’s worth making a little bit more of an effort. Maybe it’s worth staying. Maybe he could make his mom’s life a little easier and start listening to her. He hadn’t meant to lose track of time. 

They pull into the street at one twenty-four and TJ breathes a sigh of relief as he slows at the curb outside Cyrus’ house. They’ve made it. All is good. His mom can continue to trust him for the first time maybe ever. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Cyrus says just before he climbs out. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to TJ’s lips. TJ follows him as he pulls away, recapturing him in another kiss, not quite ready to let him leave. Cyrus laughs against his mouth and pulls back again, smiling at his noise of disappointment. 

“You need to go. Don’t want to be late,” he taps his watch at TJ.

“Can I see you again tomorrow?”

“You can see me whenever you want.”

“If that were the case I’d never leave your side.”

Cyrus shakes his head in amusement and flicks him on the nose. “Go home, you goof.”

He does as told with a little regret and a large smile on his face. It feels good to do things right for a change. No more drama. Of course, he is not there to see Cyrus turn around and find Buffy waiting on the front porch for him. 

 


	7. Six

The light from the front room is on when TJ arrives home. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that his mom is waiting up for him, but a little part of him had figured she probably expected him to fuck up and be late at this point. A small flicker of pride goes through him when he glances at his watch and sees he’s made it just in time. The orange glow that floods out onto the front yard grows as the curtain twitches and he knows his mom’s heard him pull in. She’s at the front door waiting, her expression a mixture of impressed and relieved, before he’s even fully out of the car.

“I’m on time!” He greets her with a wide smile. The words come out a little more excited than he intends them. Her answering smile is a little shaky and doesn’t quite meet her eyes but there’s not a flicker of annoyance or disappointment there so TJ can’t put his finger on what seems off about her expression. All he knows is something is troubling her.

“Is everything okay?” He asks as he steps through the door. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“I needed to make sure you actually came home, sweets,” she says, clearly aiming for a teasing tone but missing the mark by miles. Her fingers brush his shoulder and he can’t shake the feeling that she’s reaching out to reassure herself that he’s there. It’s odd at the very least. 

“Listen,” he says. “I know my track record isn’t exactly great and you don’t have much reason to trust me, but look! I’m here! It’s all good. No police necessary even.”

“Hm, let’s see if you can keep that up then,” she says.

He realises after a moment that the reason she sounds so off is that her focus isn’t really on him. She has a faraway worried look in her eyes. Whatever’s troubling her isn’t him. He doesn’t like it. It reminds him of the days where they had a lot more to worry about than they should’ve done. 

“You sure everything’s okay, ma?” He asks, placing a gentle hand on her arm and drawing her back to reality. She looks at him and shakes herself out of whatever floating train of thought she’d been lost along. 

“I’m fine, TJ,” she says firmly. “C’mon, bedtime.”

“But it’s summer,” he protests.

“It’s almost two in the morning. You came home on time, so let’s not ruin it, yeah? You’re too old to be arguing about staying up late, anyway.” 

She starts herding him through the living room towards the hallway. He frowns to himself and digs his heels in a little, glancing around the room. That’s when he notices it and his gaze zeroes in on the kitchen counter. On top of it is the usual sprawling pile of mail - bills and flyers mostly - but there’s also a letter which looks incredibly out of place. It’s ripped open, left lying unfolded where it is, an envelope that’s been addressed by hand next to it.

“What’s that?” TJ asks. 

The only person he can think of who would write to them would be Jim, but he usually calls instead because it makes life easier. He can’t think of any reason Jim would suddenly decide to sit down and write a letter. Anyone else who might write… well, there’s not really anyone. 

She answers too quickly. “Nothing.”

TJ walks over and reaches out to pick it up but she’s faster than him and she snatches it away before he has a chance.

“It’s just a letter from one of my college friends,” she says. 

He folds his arms. “I didn’t know they kept in touch.”

“They do. She does. Caroline. We were good friends at school. It’s nice to hear from her from time to time. I do have a life outside of you, you know.”

She won’t look him directly in the eye and her hands shake slightly in a way that’s all too familiar. 

“...Is it from the bank?”

“What? No! I told you already it’s from-”

“Caroline from college,” TJ says flatly. He’s never heard her mention this Caroline in his life. “Mom, if we’re having money problems maybe we should call Jim-”

“We’re not having money troubles! Everything’s fine. You’re being ridiculous. Go to bed.”

“But-”

“Bed!”

Her voices reaches a level of shrillness that indicates she’ll be impossible to argue with (he knows this from experience) so he sighs again and heads down the hall to his bedroom. Once upon a time, TJ and his mom would tell each other everything. They could talk for hours and hours about their lives. She’d laugh and tease him about how he was growing up too fast, growing up to be like his uncle, and he was always pleased to hear it. Growing up isn’t always good though. Teenagerhood had hit him hard and the weight of their experiences had crushed the laughter out of their lives for a long time. Sometimes TJ worries maybe it was unfixable. Maybe they’d never be free from that heaviness that sat between them. For the first time in a long time, the tension that had formed between them makes him feel more sad than angry. 

The light from the living room shines under his door for more than an hour after he shuts it and he wonders what it is that’s keeping his mother up.  

 

*******

 

By the next morning, TJ has forgotten all about the letter and his mother’s troubling behaviour. He wakes from a pleasant dream to the sun filtering through the gap in his curtains, casting a bright yellow stream of light down on his face and smiles to himself. It’s not often that he has nice dreams. His sleep is unusual an infestation of night horrors and unsettling images, or nothing at all because he’s so exhausted even his brain is too tired to terrorise him, but last night he’d been visited by sweet sleepy imaginings of Cyrus’ laughter. They’d been floating somewhere, who knows where… maybe in the clouds, linked by their entwined fingers. The world had been peaceful. TJ had been at ease.

It’s early and he’s not used to waking up feeling so well rested - it feels a little like he could take on the entire world by himself right now. Flipping the covers off, he slides out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom. As long as he’s up he might as well do something productive. He’ll make his mom breakfast before she goes to work maybe, after all, she’s always making sure he’s fed it should probably be the other way around for once considering he doesn’t have anything to do today. He could even get started on fixing the porch. That’s something he can probably manage, right? It would be nice to be able to step on it without the worry of someone’s foot going through it. Maybe he could even convince Cyrus to help him…

He whistles the whole way through his shower and breakfast. His mother looks at him like he’s insane. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

“I thought you wanted me to be more helpful around the house!”

“Yes, but I thought it might take a personality transplant to do it. What’s going on? Did you break something?” 

“I’m just in a good mood, ma.”

His mom eyes him suspiciously over her coffee. That’s when he remembers the letter from the night before. She doesn’t look as stressed out as she did last night anymore but there are dark rings under her eyes that suggest her sleep wasn’t nearly as pleasant as TJ’s. 

“Well, since you’re in such a helpful mood,” she says. “You can do me a favour and return that pie dish to Leslie Goodman down the road. It’s been sitting in that cupboard for weeks now. She probably thinks we’ve stolen it.”

At the name ‘Goodman’ TJ has to force himself not to grin. Excellent. He’s been handed an actual reason to go and knock on Cyrus’ door. Maybe he can use it as a way to prove to Mrs Goodman he can be a good polite young man and that the rumours she’s heard are just rumours. It would be nice for Cyrus’ parents to like him. The two of them could probably stop sneaking around so much if they did. 

He throws on his nicest clean shirt, a short-sleeved grey button down which is maybe the most boring piece of clothing he has, and heads down the road clutching the pie dish in a careful grasp as if it’s fine china instead of average ceramic. Showing up with a broken pie dish wouldn’t earn him any favour, he’s sure of it, so he makes extra sure there’s no risk of dropping it. Before knocking at the Goodman’s door he takes a moment to psyche himself up. 

_ Hi Mrs Goodman!  _ No, wait. That’s too chipper.

_ Nice to see you again, Mrs Goodman… _ too formal. Also maybe a little too sarcastic. 

He shakes himself. He’s definitely overthinking this. If Cyrus could see him right now he’d be laughing at him for sure. He takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles on the door. He has no experience in impressing parents. He’s just going to have to wing it.

The door swings open and as expected Mrs Goodman stands there. What’s not expected is the way her expression goes cold when she sees him. There’s no trace of the friendly woman who originally dropped off the cherry pie when the Kippens moved in. TJ knows she thinks he’s a bad influence but he didn’t think it would be this bad. She looks at him like he’s a piece of dirt at the end of her shoe. For a moment, he’s actually so stunned he forgets how to speak.

“Can I help you?” She asks coolly.

He swallows his shock and squares his shoulders, planting his feet and holding up the dish with a fixed smile. “Good morning Mrs Goodman, it’s good to see you again. I’m just returning your dish, my ma asked me to.”

She eyes him with suspicion and reaches out to take the dish. There’s no offer to come inside and her thank you is clipped. She moves to close the door and TJ rushes to stop her.

“Wait! Um… is Cyrus in at all?”

If possible, her demeanour becomes even icier than it had been before. TJ physically has to stop himself from taking a step back. There’s a hysterical little voice in the back of his mind telling him no wonder Cyrus doesn’t ever want to disappoint his mother. She’s quite a frightening woman.

“I’m afraid my son isn’t available right now.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s none of your concern. Please tell your mother I said thank you for the dish.”

And before he can say anything else she shuts the door.

Alarm bells are ringing in TJ’s head. It hasn’t even been twelve hours since he dropped Cyrus at home. He was perfectly happy when he left him. What’s happened in that time? Did Cyrus get in trouble for staying out too late? Did he get caught in a lie? Oh, God. Maybe they saw him with TJ.

There’s only one thing to do to find out.

 

*******

 

Cyrus is sat on his bed in his pyjamas, scribbling in his notebook morosely as Morrissey’s voice spills out of his stereo in a depressing drawl when a shadow falls across his window. At first, he doesn’t look up, assuming it’s the way the wind is moving the branches of the tree outside, but then he hears a familiar grunting noise and his head snaps around. 

TJ is in the tree. It’s broad daylight and TJ is clambering up the tree in the yard, risking being seen by anyone and everyone in the neighbourhood. Cyrus groans and gets up to open the window. Oh, TJ. He’s going to get the police called on him for suspected breaking and entering or something.

“It’s ten in the morning,” he says as TJ grins at him.

“Couldn’t use the front door,” TJ says, climbing in. “Your mom wasn’t exactly throwing me a welcome party when I knocked.”

“You spoke to my mother?!”

“I was returning her pie dish thing,” he shrugged. “Thought it would be a good opportunity to see you, like in a normal way as opposed to sneaky, but apparently not.”

Cyrus’ shoulders slump as he lets out a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, Teej. You can’t be here right now.”

“Why not? What’s going on? Like I know I don’t exactly have the best image in town but I wasn’t expecting your mom to be that unfriendly… I thought you could help me fix our porch or something. We could spend the day together.”

He shakes his head and wills himself not to look at TJ’s disappointed expression. He doesn’t like being the cause of that one bit. “I can’t. I’m grounded.”

“You’re grounded,” TJ repeats slowly. “You. You of all people are grounded.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re the golden boy.”

“Not anymore.”

There must be something bitter in his voice that clues TJ in because he sits down on the bed and folds his arms in that stubborn way of his that suggests he’s not moving until he’s heard everything he wants to hear. Usually, Cyrus would find that endearing, but right now it’s more frustrating than anything else. He wishes TJ would just do as he’s told sometimes.

“Spill,” TJ says.

For a moment, just a brief flash of a second, Cyrus debates lying or not telling him. He feels guilty about it immediately. This isn’t really TJ’s fault after all, and he’d know if he lied. He wouldn’t question it but he’d know. And that might hurt him. TJ doesn’t deserve that.

“Buffy saw us last night.”

“What?”

“When you dropped me home. She saw us. She was waiting out on the porch…”

_ Cyrus’ heart stops when he sees her. He and TJ really need to start checking their surroundings when they’re together. He looks back to see the tail lights of the Ford disappearing down the road and turns back to Buffy feeling helpless. There’s no one to back him up right now. He’s going to have to face her alone. _

_ He just looks at her for a moment before moving, praying that she didn’t see as much as he thinks she did, but he’s fairly sure that it’s a lost cause. Jerky legs carry him forward and he comes to a halt in front of her, slipping his hands into his pockets trying not to squirm nervously as she looks up to meet his eyes.  _

_ Buffy’s expression is a colourful mixture of anger, disappointment and resignation all blended together like a paint palette of unwanted emotions. He doesn’t know what to say. All of his words have been stolen by panic and replaced by a strong desire to beg her not to hate him.  _

_ But he doesn’t beg. No. Instead, he says, “What’re you doing here so late?” _

_ Disbelief. Scorn. She stands up to meet his eyes head on. “Really? That’s all you’ve got to say?” _

_ “I don’t know what else you want me to say." _

_ “I’ve been sat here for the past half an hour waiting for you to come home. I was actually starting to think you were dead in a ditch. Do you know how worried I was? How worried everyone else is?” _

_ His heart drops. Oh no. _

_ “Everyone else?” _

_ “Yeah. Everyone else. Jonah, Andi, your parents. Everyone. They have the Chief out looking for you. We thought something had happened to you.” _

_ “Wh-” _

_ “We came by to see if you were sure you didn’t want to hang out tonight. We were going to sleep at Jonah’s. And you  _ weren’t here _. You lied to us! You lied to your parents! Your mom’s a mess right now, you idiot, and this whole time you’ve been with  _ him?!”  _ She spits the final word with disgust, gesturing at the street TJ’s car just disappeared down. “And do you know what’s worse?” _

_ He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at the ground, guilt and shame consuming him. This is it. She saw the kiss. She’s about to tell him how gross he is. How he’s a freak and a sinner and- _

_ “The Chief called it,” Cyrus’ head snaps up, eyes wide. Beck. What did Beck tell them? What’s he said to his parents? “He said you were probably with TJ. Said you guys hang out a lot. What the fuck Cyrus? How often have you been sneaking off with TJ? Is that why you’ve been so busy? You’ve been lying to us this whole time?” _

_ “Buffy, it’s not-” he starts to plead. _

_ “No!” She shouts. “Don’t lie to me again! I can’t believe you. I get that maybe you weren’t ready to tell me you liked guys, but  _ TJ Kippen  _ of all people?!” _

_ “I don’t-” _

_ “Don’t lie to me! I saw you kissing him! I saw it!” _

_ “What?” _

_ Both of them whirl around to see Cyrus’ mom and Todd stood on the front porch, Chief Beck hovering behind them with a look of deep concern on his face.  _

_ Buffy’s face goes blank. Cyrus feels like he’s going to throw up. _

_ “What did you just say, Buffy?” His mom asks again, voice quiet. _

_ The silence is deafening.  _

_ “I-I didn’t… I was just saying Cyrus should’ve called-” _

_ “You said he was kissing TJ Kippen.” _

_ And it happens just like that. In a matter of seconds, Cyrus’ world is crumbling around him. He feels it all go dark, and he barely hears the alarm in the voices around him as they fade away. He blacks out. _

 

*******

 

“Shit,” TJ says, and that about sums up Cyrus’ feelings on the matter. “Well, what did they say about it? How much trouble are you in?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Cyrus shrugs. “When I woke up they just told me I was grounded and told me I was grounded for lying. Chief Beck said he was glad I was okay.”

“I can’t believe he told them.” There’s anger in TJ’s voice and Cyrus feels the immediate need to defend the Chief. He doesn’t think he meant any harm, he had just been trying to calm everybody down, and it’s not like what he said was totally damning after all.

“He didn’t tell them about the night he caught us, I don’t think,” he says. “I think he just wanted to reassure my mom I was probably safe. This is all my fault really.” He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face and fighting back the urge to cry. “I shouldn’t have lied to everyone.”

TJ shakes his head without missing a beat, and there’s a vehement insistence in his voice when he says, “It’s  _ not  _ your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t-”

“No. If  _ I  _ hadn’t convinced you to ditch your friends and come out with me it would’ve been fine. You’d be fine. This is all my fault. I just keep fucking things up for you.”

“Stop that,” Cyrus admonishes with a frown. He sits down beside TJ and leans into his side. It’s second nature for TJ to sling an arm around him and draw him in closer. They sit like that for a moment, huddled up against one another in silence as the music droned on in the background.

“...Is this the fucking Smiths?” TJ asks after a moment, startling a small laugh out of Cyrus. “How emo of you.”

“You said I should expand my music taste,” he argues back, smiling.

“Yeah, to something good, not these fools.”

Cyrus rolls his eyes and shakes his head. It’s a temporary reprieve from the worry. He wishes he could have TJ with him all the time, it might make facing his parents later a little easier. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when they finally want to talk about it… and they  _ will  _ want to talk about it. His mother is not good with letting things lie. He reckons has roughly a maximum of six hours to get his thoughts in order before they sit him down.

He’s afraid.

And then there’s Buffy. She had left before he woke up. Before he’d had a chance to explain himself or apologise. He knows what she’s like… she isn’t going to take this lightly. She’s going to be angry for a while, they’ve had fights like this before, but... there’s a big part of him scared that this time she really will hate him. It’s different this time, after all. She saw him kissing TJ. She saw him kissing a boy she hates with a violent passion. She saw him kissing a boy.

A boy.

“What am I going to do?” He turns his face and mumbles into TJ’s shoulder.

“I don’t know, Cy,” he replies honestly, rubbing a comforting thumb back and forth across Cyrus’ neck. “I don’t know. It’s going to be okay, though.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will be because I’m going to make sure of it. You’re going to survive this, Cyrus. You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through it together, alright? You’re not alone here. You’re never going to be alone as long as I’m around.”

That’s the moment when Cyrus first wants to say three irrevokable words, they almost fall from his lips without his permission, but he holds back. He’s not ready for that yet. It makes everything even more terrifying.

TJ reaches back and picks up the notebook Cyrus had abandoned on the bedspread. He makes no effort to stop him from reading it, he trusts him and it’s mostly just incomprehensible random musings anyway. Nothing too important. 

"You write like you're in love with words."   
  
"Words are easier to put on paper than they are to say.”

TJ smiles at him and leans down, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. Cyrus wants to believe him when he says it’s going to be okay. He wants to believe him so much that he almost does.

He almost does.

 

*******

 

After the threat of Cyrus’ parents entering his room unannounced becomes unbearable, TJ slips back out the window and tries to carry on with his day. His cheerful mood from earlier this morning has been dampened to the point it’s almost been completely washed away, but he tries to push past the feeling of guilt that threatens to turn the world grey.

He feels bad. He feels responsible. Responsible for putting Cyrus in such a dangerous position. Who knew how his parents would react? He’d asked if he wanted him to stay, to be there when his parents finally confronted him, but Cyrus had shaken his head and told him to get out of there. TJ hadn’t left before telling him that if anything bad happened he should head for his house. They’d figure things out together. He hated leaving him behind to face his fears alone. He hopes, and maybe for a moment he even prays a little, that Cyrus will be okay and the Goodmans will react reasonably. They love their son, he tells himself. They’re not like TJ’s father was. They are good people.

He hopes to God that they stay good people.

Wow, he really needs to distract himself. Suddenly, fixing the porch doesn’t feel good enough. It’s too close to Cyrus’ own house. He won’t be able to stop himself from going back there if he stays here and keeps thinking about it. So, instead of lingering, he heads for the mall. Maybe he can get some new music, make Cyrus another mixtape to cheer him up or something. Get him something better than  _ The Smiths  _ for crying out loud.

It’s not as fun by himself as it is with Cyrus, but he tries to push that thought away. The mall is a bright white space-station of weirdness. It’s filled with the business brought on by the first day of summer. Teenagers and kids crowd every corning, raucous and a little euphoric as they wander in and out of the different stores and hang out by the fountain. The atmosphere of the record store is just as busy but not as bright and it brings him welcome relief from the feeling that everyone is watching him. He spends about half an hour flicking through sleeves, contemplating whether he could have a career doing artwork for record covers. That would be a pretty cool job, he thinks. Cyrus would probably agree.

He’s lost in the musical realm when someone taps his shoulder and the clearing of a throat drags him out of his reverie. He steels himself. Is the store owner about to tell him to buy something or get out? It’s happened before. He wouldn’t be surprised.

He is surprised. It’s not a store owner - it’s Jonah Beck.

“Uh, hi?” TJ says, feeling awkward all of a sudden and still clutching the record he’d been looking at because it was one that Cyrus has recommended him in the past.

“Hi,” Jonah says brightly. “I didn’t know you were a Lauper fan.”

TJ looks down at the record. Cyndi Lauper smiles up at him cheekily, big hair and all. 

“Her music is good for dancing,” he defends stiffly. 

Jonah throws up his hands like he’s surrendering to the police. “Hey man, I’m not knocking her. Y’know, it’s funny… Cyrus Goodman is a big fan of hers.”

There’s a knowing look in his eyes and TJ thinks he’s probably a little bit screwed right now. Is he about to get punched for daring to go near Cyrus? Is Jonah going to kill him for being a terrible influence? TJ squares his shoulders as confidently as he can. He doesn’t know why he’s worrying. He could totally take Jonah in a fight.

Jonah sips his slushie and smiles. 

Okay, so he’s probably not here to fight TJ. Still, it’s hard to deactivate a fight or flight response that’s built-in as deeply as his own whether he likes it or not. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, putting as much attitude into his words as he can.

“Depends,” Jonah muses. “You feel like getting some lunch with me?”

Jonah and TJ find themselves sat together at a table in the food court, several hot dogs and burgers between them, both wolfing down food as elegantly as possible for two growing teenage boys. It’s a situation that TJ never expected to find himself in and he’s surprised at how pleasant the companionship feels. He’s still not sure what they’re doing here, he doesn’t know why Jonah is willing to talk to him let alone sit down and eat lunch with him, but he’ll take it. It’s a welcome distraction from his own thoughts anyway.

“So,” Jonah says, after having swallowed practically an entire burger in one go. “You and Cyrus.”

TJ’s head snaps up. “What?”

“You’ve been hanging out right?” Jonah asks.

TJ’s shoulders sag in relief. 

“Are you like… boyfriends or whatever?”

Oh. Nevermind. The panic comes flying back immediately.

“What, no-”

“Hey,” Jonah lifts a hand. “Don’t sweat it, man. I’m not bothered by it. Just trying to figure out what’s up.”

“Did Buffy tell you?”

He shakes his head. “All she said was that you guys had been hanging out. It wasn’t hard to figure out though. Cyrus doesn’t really keep secrets unless he has a really good reason to, plus ever since my dad drove Cyrus home a few weeks ago he’s bought like four books on queer history. I just put two and two together.”

TJ feels like he’s stepped into some weird alternate reality now. “Books. On queer history.”

Jonah nods and picks up a hotdog. “He’s also been a lot nicer about you. Than he was before I mean. He always asks about you. After you saved Cyrus from Donnie that time I had to convince him not to go find you or something. I think you’ve been adopted, man.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. 

TJ doesn’t know how to respond to that, so instead of saying anything he pulls a marker out of his pocket and grabs a napkin to doodle on. He needs something to do with his hands and he doesn’t want to look Jonah in the eye right now. He’s not used to anyone, especially someone’s dad, looking out for him like that. No one does that for him. No one except his mom and Jim anyway.

“Why am I here?” He asks Jonah as he sketches out the shape of two milkshakes.

“I figured I should probably make an effort to get to know you,” Jonah says, tone filled with amusement. “Y’know, since my dad’s decided you’re the bee's knees and Cyrus is practically living in your pocket or whatever.”

TJ does look up then, glaring at him.

“I just mean… I think we got off to a bad start and I think maybe we should call a truce. I don’t like seeing Buffy and Cyrus fight. They’ve been best friends since they were like four, y’know? But the only way I see this going away is if  _ you  _ go away.”

Oh. So he is getting warned off. Too bad, TJ has already promised Cyrus he won’t leave him alone. He bristles, ready to tell Jonah to go to hell, but Jonah continues talking before he can.

“But obviously, if that happened, Cyrus wouldn’t be too thrilled. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He might think he’s sneaky but his not. He totally stares at you at school. Anyway, so… you see how that’s a problem. You can’t stay but you can’t go away. No one’s happy if things stay the way they are.”

“What are you saying?”

‘“I’m saying maybe things would cool down a bit if you talked to Buffy about it.”

“I don’t think she wants me to talk to her, dude. I said some pretty shitty things to her.”

“You said shitty things to me too, but I’m talking to you,” Jonah smiles.

TJ grimaces. “I’m sorry about that.”

He means it. He tries to look Jonah in the eyes as he says it, too. He doesn’t  _ want  _ Cyrus’ friends to hate him. He’s reminded suddenly of the conversation about apologising to Buffy that they had the first time they talked. He had told Cyrus he would. He doesn’t want to let him down - it’s time he started sticking to his word.

Jonah waves him off. “It’s all good. Forgive and forget and all that jazz, right?”

“I’ll apologise to Buffy, but if she tries to behead me I reserve my right to get the hell out of dodge.”

“Rad,” Jonah nods with a satisfied look on his face, then looks at the napkin TJ’s doodling on. “Hey, y’know your art is totally gnarly too. My dad told me the graffiti was you. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t know. I’ve always been able to do it. Just practised a lot I guess.”

“You know what’d be cool? If you could do some art for our band, I don’t know if Cyrus told you but me and some of the others play together sometimes. It’d be neat to have like a logo or something.”

“For real?”

“Sure.”

There’s a pause.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you’re meant to be warning me off or something. Like… I’ve been shitty to you and your friends. You shouldn’t be willing to forgive me or whatever. Why’re you being so nice to me when I was such a jerk?”

“Cyrus is a good judge of character. Maybe you should stop trying to convince yourself your an asshole and you’d have better luck making friends,” he replies, not unkindly. 

Huh. Maybe he has a point.

“Anyway,” Jonah continues. “You should swing by practice sometime this week. We usually practice in the garage block at the end of Main. You’ll hear us before you see us.”

“I might take you up on that,” and it’s true.

 

*******

 

When TJ gets home he’s weighed down with ideas for mixtape gifts to make for Cyrus, some of which have been aided by an excitable Jonah Beck whose eyes lit up when TJ mentioned it, and thoughts about his own future here in Shadyside. 

TJ throws the keys down on the counter and heads to his room, stripping off his shirt the second he’s through the door and flopping on his bed. When he first arrived in town, he hated it with every fibre of his being. He thought it was hell on earth, that there was nothing here for him and never would be. He was an outsider, as unwanted as he was unwanting. He didn’t belong.

In Shadyside, there were no nightclubs to get lost in. There was no gay scene to feel free in. There was no Uncle Jim to aggressively sing along to Bon Jovi with until he felt better. There were rose gardens and nosy neighbours and people who looked at him like dirt. All the things he didn’t want.

But now there’s Cyrus. There’s Cyrus, and a house that’s actually starting to feel like home, and his mom sings along to the radio more than she ever did back in the city. There are trees and parks to run in, there’s plenty of walls to cover in paint whether the police want him to or not, and the chances of him getting stabbed here for accidentally offending the wrong person are a lot lower. Shadyside is the kind of place people grow up in and never leave. Shadyside is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business. Shadyside is the kind of place that TJ thought would be everything he hated and worse.

Shadyside is the kind of place where people live their lives without fear.

And now, Jonah Beck is approaching him asking to make amends. Inviting him to things. Wanting to get to know him for the sake of Cyrus Goodman.

And now, TJ is spending time actually worrying about making good impressions on parents and what would or wouldn’t be a good date for his boyfriend.

And now, TJ might actually have a future.

The thing is, he never thought he’d stop running. Even back with Jim, he and his mom had lived with a constant worry that one of his father’s friends would appear and cause trouble. They’d been living in the shadow of their greatest fear. They’d been running away even when they were standing still.

In Shadyside, there’s none of that. For the first time, TJ thinks maybe he could be happy here. He doesn’t think he’ll ever totally be able to forget what his father did to him. The nightmares are permanently installed in his brain, and the sound of glass breaking still makes him want to cry, but it’s different now. When TJ looks at his face he sees the ghost of his past following him everywhere. A reminder that he will never truly be free. But when Cyrus looks at him, he sees the most beautiful person he will ever meet. Kind eyes, a stern face, and a smile that he has fallen in love with all too easily. He will never understand TJ's pain, and he knows he cannot take it away completely, but he hopes he can ease it. He hopes that one day he can get TJ to see himself through Cyrus' eyes, as somebody worth risking everything for.

He makes a decision in that moment, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. There is a future in Shadyside. There is a ridiculous rumour mill, there is a ridiculous busybody atmosphere, there is a ridiculous small town mindset, but there is a future. A future with a boy who deserves better than who TJ is right now, but that doesn’t mean that TJ can never be worthy.

He will be worthy. He’s going to be the boy that boy deserves. 

TJ Kippen is in love with Cyrus Goodman, wholly and completely, and he is not going to let himself destroy that. He deserves better too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this update took so long. I'm a uni student so I've been focusing on work and mental health more than fic writing at the moment. This chapter mostly got done today because I was procrastinating my actual work. Hope you all enjoy.


	8. Seven

The next two weeks practically crawl by, slowed by the growing feeling of guilt that overwhelms TJ every time he thinks about Cyrus or Buffy. It doesn’t help that Cyrus isn’t there to quell his worry, they’ve seen each other a couple of times but it’s hard while Cyrus is grounded and TJ doesn’t actually want to get reported as a suspected burglar climbing in through his window by some nosy neighbour. Not that it’s Cyrus’ job to ease his anxiety, but he does help.

He keeps thinking about Jonah’s offer to come by band practice. He knows he should take him up on it. He knows he owes Buffy a sincere and respectable apology. He knows he is the only one who can fix this mess. However, when he thinks too hard about it he freezes up. It’s easy for nerves to get the best of you when somebody else’s feelings are at stake. He doesn’t want to screw this up. Cyrus deserves to be able to go about his life without hiding things from his friends. Separating two worlds isn’t easy, TJ knows this from experience, and he should be able to hang out with both his boyfriend and friends at the same time without worrying that a war will break out. It’s up to TJ to do something about it.

The courage comes to him when the stress of it all gets to the point he has a dream about Buffy unhinging her jaw like a snake and eating him. Avoiding it any longer is definitely not an option. The image of her knife-sharp teeth haunts him the entire morning afterwards.

Jonah was right when he said TJ would be able to hear band practice before he saw it. The sound of crashing rock music is loud, disruptive and totally awesome, breaking the peace of the summer afternoon as he approaches the garage block. He can see why the groups’ parents are more than reluctant to let them play, it’s the kind of music TJ associates with basement crowds and too much beer. He thinks it’s fantastic but adults tend not to agree. _‘The devil’s music’_ one of his batty old teachers had once said to him when confiscating his walkman. He and his friends had laughed about that one for weeks afterwards. The fond memory is almost enough to calm his nerves as he lifts his fist to hammer on the garage door.

The music comes to a sudden halt, replaced by the muffled sound of confused voices. It’s only a moment before the door is being shoved up in a chorus of clanking metal. Marty’s face stares back at TJ and he shifts awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Uh, hi?”

“What are you doing here?” Marty frowns, folding his arms.

TJ shrugs. “Jonah told me to come by.”

“It’s okay, Marty.” Jonah appears behind Marty, patting him on the shoulders with his usual dopey grin on his face. Marty gives his friend a confused look but relaxes and moves aside all the same. TJ just about manages to refrain from making a joke about Marty’s possible future as a club bouncer and takes a careful step inside, ducking his head under the door as he goes.

Behind the guys, the garage is nothing like what TJ expected at all. He had thought it would be a half-abandoned mess, dusty and undisturbed apart from the band, with storage boxes and forgotten tools scattered around. It’s not. It’s clear straight away that the group have made this place their own. There are some boxes but they’re been shoved to the side and now sit covered in cups and guitar picks. The whole place is reminiscent of the music store at the music; walls covered in peeling rock posters, flyers for local shows and sheets of music. A grotty old couch sits by the back wall, faded green and stained with what looks like some kind of sauce in several places. There’s a beat-up and clearly loved drum kit in the corner and several amps around the edge of the room.

Andi stands by the amps, same confused look as Marty, clutching a bass like it’s a lifeline. Buffy is sat behind the drums and TJ’s eyes land on her, heart sinking immediately. From the look on her face, he might be about to walk right into World War III.

There’s a moment of awkward silence and he scrambles to think of something to say, anything to say, to alleviate the tension. What comes out is, “So.... you guys didn’t sound half bad from out there.” And he mentally smacks himself on the forehead for it. Buffy’s stormy look intensifies and she stands so suddenly TJ takes a step back.

“What the hell, Jonah?” She demands as the boy in question tactfully slides his way in between her and TJ. His grin stays in place but looks a little more strained than it did a few seconds ago, and TJ wonders if this is about to mess up a second friendship. He should leave.

He doesn’t leave. His feet stay firmly rooted to the ground.

“I thought you wanted more people to hear us play?” Jonah replies, all too calm. TJ may have underestimated him - the boy clearly knows how to play the ‘totally clueless’ part and use it to his advantage. Buffy obviously knows what he’s doing too because she folds her arms and looks about two seconds away from stomping her foot like Rumpelstiltskin and going right through the floor.

“Not _him!_ Why the hell is he here?”

In the corner, Andi slides her bass off and places it down as quietly as possible before retreating to the couch, Marty slides around the other three to go and join her. They way they sit makes it look like they should have popcorn between them watching the entire scene go down. With the likelihood of Jonah getting punched growing every second, TJ decides to be proactive and step around him to face Buffy. He doesn’t need protecting and if he’s going to do this right he certainly isn’t going to let Jonah get in trouble because of him.

“Look, I know you don’t want me here-”

“You’re damn right I don’t.”

“-but I have something I need to say and I think you deserve to hear it.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything that _you_ have to say?”

Jonah sighs and tries to interject, “Buff…”

“No! No, J,” She throws up a hand to silence him, not taking her eyes off TJ. “This isn’t about you. It’s about him. You know ever since you got here all you’ve done is caused trouble and hurt people, even when they were trying to be nice to you? So what, you want like a second chance or something? You don’t deserve it. Why can’t you just leave us alone? Why can’t you leave Cyrus alone? He’s a good person. You know he never lied to us until you came along, right? You’re bad for him.”

TJ clenches his jaw. “I don’t think you get to decide that for him.”

“I’m not deciding for him. I’m looking out for him because that’s what friends do, but obviously, you wouldn’t know that because you don’t have any.”

Pause. TJ takes a deep breath and thinks of Cyrus. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He sees where she’s coming from. It must hurt to have your best friend keep something from you, especially a relationship, and TJ _has_ been pretty unpleasant to her. When he thinks back to the first time they met he still feels that strong twinge of guilt.

“You’re right,” he says.

Buffy actually looks surprised. “What?”

“Look. I didn’t come here for a fight. You’re right. I’ve been awful. Just hear me out for two seconds, okay? I know I don’t deserve it but… I came to apologise.”

“Just hear him out, Buff,” Jonah asks softly.

Once again they lapse into silence. Buffy’s mouth twists like she’s thinking about it and she taps her foot a couple of times, then waves her hand. “Fine. You have the floor. This better not be a waste of my time.”

TJ nods and steps closer. “Okay. So, first of all… please don’t blame Cyrus for any of this. It’s not his fault. He’s actually been encouraging me to be better these past few months. He said ages ago that I needed to apologise to you and he was right. I should never have said girls are worse at sports than guys, I know that’s not true and I was just trying to make you mad, which I also shouldn’t have done especially considering you were just trying to be nice to me. These past few months have been really difficult for me, but that’s not an excuse. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t personal. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. I’m working on it, I swear… I’m trying to be better. I’m sorry.”

Buffy shifts, looking away for a moment and glancing back at Andi. The two of them seem to share a freaky psychic connection for a second because they both nod slightly and Buffy turns back to him.

“You know what you said was really misogynistic?”

“I know.”

“You won’t ever say that kind of stuff again?”

He shakes his head.

She lifts her chin somewhat challengingly. “Well, good. Because I could kick your ass on the court.”

TJ stares at her. The corner of her mouth twitches and he lets out a relieved breath. “Is that a challenge?”

One of her shoulders lifts in a half shrug. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

He smiles at her and offers his hand out. She takes it and shakes once, firm.

“You’re still a jerk, though,” she says, but her tone is offhand rather than accusatory and TJ’s smile widens involuntarily.

“Well, thank God that’s over,” Andi announces, standing up and grabbing her bass again in one sudden fluid motion. “I really thought I was never going to hear the end of all this. You guys are really dramatic, you know that?”

“Does this mean I can high-five him for beating Donnie up now?”  Marty asks. Buffy shoots him a look of exasperation. “Not even a little high five…?”

“Can we get back to practice now?” Andi asks.

“Right, I’ll, uh, get out of your hair,” TJ says, stepping back towards the door. “Cool space by the way.”

“What? No,” Jonah says, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. “You can’t leave yet. You gotta hear us play for real first. Then you can show the others some of your drawings. Did you guys know TJ’s the one who did all the graffiti?”

There’s a flurry of interested noises and he finds himself being shuffled over to the gross couch to spectate band practice. Andi begins explaining something about their songs, bass rocking in a dangerous side-to-side on the strap around her neck, narrowly avoiding hitting Marty in the hip,  as her hands wave excitedly with her words. A can of Cherry Coke is shoved into one of his hands and a battered piece of paper that reveals itself to be a list of songs makes its way into his lap. It’s not long before Buffy is yelling a countdown and the four of them launch into something energetic and slightly out of tune. It’s awesome.

 

*******

 

Things at the Goodman household are tense and weird in a way that Cyrus has never experienced before. His estimate of six hours for his mom coming to talk to him was way off - she still hasn’t spoken to him about it and now he’s having a hard time looking her in the eye when they sit down for family dinners. It sucks hardcore. That’s why he’s surprised when his mom pops her head around the door and asks if she can speak to him.

“Uh, yeah, come in,” he says, shuffling up his bed to make room for her to sit.

She perches on the edge, smoothing the lines of her skirt as she sits in the same anxious way she does when stories about the nuclear threat roll on the news. Cyrus puts the book he’d been reading down on the dresser, something by Stephen King that is most certainly going to give him nightmares tonight and focuses his attention on her. His palms start to itch with nervous sweat almost straight away. This is it.

“Buffy’s downstairs,” his mom says. “She wants to talk to you.”

“You didn’t send her away?” Cyrus asks. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to see anyone while I was grounded.”

“You’re not,” she confirms, then sighs deeply. “But I’ve asked her to wait for a moment. I know the two of you fought and I think it would be unfair of me to let that continue since it’s obviously been causing you some distress these last couple of weeks.”

He averts his gaze. He knows he’s been quiet, but it’s not just about Buffy and they both know it.

“I don’t think that’s the only thing you’re upset about though, is it?” Oh, there it is. “So I wanted to talk to you about that first.”

“Okay.” The word sticks in his throat and comes out choked. His mom’s face is stern in a way he’s never seen before and he hates it. The idea of disappointing her is awful but he’s already done it and there’s no changing that. He’ll just have to live with it. The idea of her rejecting him though… he doesn’t think he could live with that. He doesn’t know how he would survive without his mom.

She straightens her skirt again and Cyrus resists the urge to take her hand to comfort her like he normally does. It’s harder than he wants it to be. This is all so much harder than he wants it to be.

“Well, you obviously know that Todd and I overheard your argument with Buffy. I’m sure it’s not how you would’ve liked to discuss things, so… I think we should discuss that. Now, I mean.” Her voice shakes a little. “You’ve, uh… been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Yes.”

“And you kissed him.”

He can’t do much else but nod.

“Is he- are you…?” She bites her lip.

Tears threaten to fall as he musters up as much courage as he can. The words come out quiet, so quiet, and full of the fear he’s been holding inside for so long now. “Gay. Yes. I’m gay, mom.”

The room goes quiet. His mom looks at her knees and continues to fidget. The silence between them stretches for so long that Cyrus thinks he might start crying just to break it. He wants to hug her. He wants her to hold him close, rub his back and tell him it will be alright like she did when he had nightmares as a kid. He wants to wake up from _this_ nightmare.

“Okay,” she says finally, voice as quiet as his. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She looks at him and nods.

“You’re not mad?” He asks, disbelieving voice cracking on the last word. “You don’t hate me?”

She actually looks taken aback by this, and then she is moving towards him and bundling him up in her arms. “Oh, honey. Of course, I’m not mad. You’re my son. You’ll always be my son. I could never hate you. I’m just worried, is all. It’s a hard world for you out there.”

That’s what does it. The damn breaks and without any warning he’s sobbing into his mom’s shoulder as she squeezes him. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or somehow more frightened than he was before. It feels so real all of a sudden as if now that he’s said it out loud to her it can actually hurt him. He can’t take it back. He can’t hide anymore.

It takes a little while for him to calm down but he does. When he eventually pulls away, she tugs a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipes his eyes with it.

“Oh, Cyrus.” She looks almost as sad as he does and he sees tears in her eyes too.

“What am I gonna do?” He asks. He feels so broken.

“You don’t have to do anything, sweetie. You don’t have to do anything. You just be you, that’s all you need to do, okay? I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us. I just need you to know that you’re always going to be safe here, no matter what.”

She takes his hand and squeezes. He squeezes back and gives her a watery smile.

“Thanks, mom.”

“We do need to talk about this boy though,” she says, face returning to stern once more.

Cyrus groans. “Why?”

“Because the boy has a reputation, honey, and it’s not a good one. I don’t think he’s a very good influence on you, especially if he’s got you sneaking out and fighting with your friends. You usually tell us everything and you kept him from us, so what does that say about him?”

“It’s not his fault. The lying and stuff… that’s on me. And I’m sorry about it. I really am. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d react like this. He’s more than his reputation, mom.”

“Chief Beck has had so many calls about that boy, Cyrus-”

“He’s not all bad! He’s just… he does dumb stuff sometimes. He’s been having a hard time, but he’s getting better, I swear! He’s a good person. He really is. He’s… he’s good to me. I always feel like I can be myself around him. I’m happy with him.”

She purses her lips. “You really like this boy, hm?”

He nods.

“Well… okay. But no more sneaking out and lying. And you need to talk to Buffy. She’s always been there for you. She’s been around a lot longer than that boy has, remember that.”

“I will.”

“Good.” She nods and squeezes his hand once more before standing up.

“Does this mean I’m not grounded anymore?” He asks, hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck,” she says. “You’re grounded for at least the next two weeks still. You almost gave me a heart attack that night.” She disappears through the door and he watches her go. That had been a lot easier than he expected. One day he’ll get her to like TJ, but he suspects it won’t be any time soon.

After a couple of moments, another soft knock comes at his door and he looks up to see Buffy peering in at him. He straightens and motions for her to come in.

“Before you yell at me,” he says quickly. “I just need to say that I’m sorry for lying to you. I should’ve told you the truth ages ago. You’re my best friend and I trust you, and we’re meant to tell each other everything. I messed up. I’m _really_ sorry.”

“I didn’t come here to yell at you,” Buffy says, then flops down next to him on the bed. “I came to say sorry to.”

“What? What for?”

She stares at him. “For yelling and basically outing you to your parents?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that,” she sighs and lies down to stare at the ceiling. “I should’ve let you explain properly first. I’m sorry too.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean- I know you didn’t mean for any of that to happen. It was on me.”

She gives him a look that tells him to shut up. “How about it was on both of us and we’re both sorry?”

“That works.”

When a few minutes of quiet have gone by, Cyrus admits, “I don’t like it when we fight.”

“Neither do I.”

“Never again, then?”

“Never again,” she agrees, then props herself up on her elbow. “But no more lying and sneaking around. That sucked. You could’ve told us. You could’ve told me about… TJ. And stuff.”

“Right. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I knew you would be mad and I wasn’t ready to deal with it. It was stupid,” he says. “...Y’know, you’re being surprisingly chill about TJ, actually. And the gay thing.”

“The gay thing is no big deal,” she waves him off. “And I’m being chill about TJ because we’ve called a truce.”

“A truce?” He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“He came to band practice. Apologised to me properly in front of the others and everything. It was cool.”

“He did?”

“What? You didn’t know he was going to?

Cyrus shakes his head. He’s been missing TJ over the past couple of weeks. Their contact has been sparse, whenever TJ can get away with breaking in really, and they haven’t had time to talk about much of anything. He wonders when TJ came to the conclusion he needed to talk to Buffy for real. “How did he know where band practice was?”

“I think J told him.”

His eyebrows draw together in a hilariously baffled expression that makes Buffy smile. “He talks to Jonah now?”

She nods. “They spent the entire afternoon talking about Bon Jovi the other day. Weird, right?”

“Totally.” He picks at his comforter, smiling at the thought of his best friends and his boyfriend getting along for once. It’s a nice image in his head. Maybe they can actually spend time together as a group from now on.

“So… no more lying?”

“No more lying. I promise.”

Buffy smiles and he knows their fight it over. It’s the best feeling in the world.

 

*******

**THUMPTHUMPTHUMP.**

It’s a stinking hot Saturday morning when TJ is woken up by a rapid banging on the front door. He fights his way out of sweaty sheets, rolls off the mattress and trudges out into the hall yawning as he goes. He’s not quite re-entered the land of the living as he pulls open the door, so instead of a greeting his guest gets a grunt and it’s Cyrus’ peel of delighted laughter that wakes him up properly.

“Not a morning person, huh?” He chirps.

TJ squints at him, unsure of whether he’s dreaming or not. Cyrus hasn’t been allowed to do much outside of chores and running errands for his mom for the majority of June. He should be back at the Goodman’s house wallowing in teenage self-pity over being grounded, not hovering on TJ’s front porch with a halo of morning sunlight shining behind his head.

“What are you doing here?” TJ asks, voice raspy from disuse. Like the rest of him, his voice box is still half-asleep. “I thought you weren’t allowed out. Did you sneak out? Your mom will kill you if she finds out you were here.”

“Take a chill pill,” Cyrus says with a fond roll of his eyes and steps into the house. TJ moves aside for him easily, letting him brush past and stroll into the kitchen. Shutting the door, he shuffles after him making a valiant effort not to trip over the ends of his pyjama pants. “I’m not going to get in trouble.”

“Are you sure? Because no offence babe but you’re mom’s kind of scary and I don’t really feel like getting murdered right now. ‘S too early for death.”

“I’m not going to get in trouble,” he reasserts. “Because, as of seven-oh-three this morning, I am officially ungrounded.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and then an uncontrollable smile begins to grow on TJ’s face. Cyrus’ own expression seems to be suffering a similar affliction of wild cheer. Excitement bubbles in his chest. Cyrus is ungrounded. Cyrus is allowed out. Cyrus and TJ can hang out, go on dates, and do normal teenage summer things. In all honesty, he’d been a little convinced that Cyrus would be grounded until his thirties after facing Mrs Goodman that day with the pie dish.

“You’re ungrounded.”

Cyrus nods, grin practically splitting his face in two.

“You’re ungrounded!” TJ whoops, punching the air with his fist. All remnants of sleep leave him as he considers the possibilities for the summer ahead of them. “We’ve got to celebrate!”

“That’s what I thought!” Cyrus agrees with enthusiasm. “So, I was thinking, maybe we could go down to the lake? We could ask the others to come. Make a day of it.”

If it was already too hot now, it was going to be unbearable later, but the idea of a cool dip in the lake sounds absolutely perfect to TJ. It’s been so long since he went swimming last he can barely remember what it feels like. His enthusiasm when he agrees is wholly genuine. Cyrus lights up, but then the joy on his face flickers slightly and he shifts in a way that floods TJ with concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Cyrus chews on his lip a little. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“You think we could tell the others? About us?”

“You wanna come out?”

He nods, eyes big and wide in that way that TJ can’t resist. He thinks about it for a moment; Buffy and the others have been really cool for a while now. He’d even call them friends. He feels safe around them now, almost as safe as he feels with Cyrus. It wouldn’t be too bad to tell them.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Really?” Cyrus beams.

“Yeah, I mean it’s not like they’re gonna go telling everyone else, is it? They’re cool. It’d be nice to be able to relax and hold hands around them and stuff.”

“You want to hold hands in front of the other others?”

TJ nods and Cyrus’ expression is so sweet that he has to kiss it from his face right then and there. Oh yeah, it’s going to be a good summer.

 

***

 

The rest of the gang is more than happy to head down to the lake. They end up riding their bikes down, TJ clutching Cyrus’ shoulders as he tries not to fall off the back because no one has access to a car that day. When they get there they dump their things on the ground the second they dismount and Andi has to remind everyone hastily to put on sunscreen before Marty and Jonah go charging off into the water.

It’s baking out. The sun beats down on the dried up grass mercilessly and TJ’s glad he remembered sunglasses because it’s so bright he’s still squinting a little with them on. Buffy sets up the portable stereo they brought and blasts the music so loud that Cyrus says they’re lucky everyone else will be on the other side of the lake so they can’t disturb their neighbours.

With the sound of _Dead or Alive_ filling the breezeless air alongside his friends’ laughter and the way the light glistens on the top of the water making it look like the most inviting thing he’s ever seen, TJ gets so caught up in the excitement that he forgets what’s under his shirt. When he strips it off the others’ voices go silent. He looks up to see everyone looking at him.

“What?” He demands.

There’s a beat where the others exchange uncertain looks, then Marty speaks.

“Gnarly scar, dude,” he says, nodding to TJ’s chest.

TJ looks down to where he can see the tail end of the mark. Shit.

“It looks like someone tried to behead you,” Jonah pipes up with his usual level of tact. Andi smacks him on the arm and gives him a warning look.

Cyrus shakes his head at the others. “It’s none of your business if he doesn’t want to talk about it, guys.”

“It’s fine, Cy,” TJ says, resisting the urge to pull the shirt back on. He has to face this stuff at some point - it might actually be good to talk about it some more.

“Really?”

He nods at him then turns back to the others. “My dad gave it to me.”

Buffy and Andi’s eyes widen.

“Is that why it’s just you and your mom?” Jonah asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay. Cool. Well… we’re here to talk if you want, dude.”

“Thanks?”

And just like that, it’s forgotten about. Marty announces it’s swimming time and runs flailing into the water at top speed, falling down knee-deep. Jonah laughs and chases him, and it’s not long before they’re all charging in, splashing and settling in to play chicken. When the games start to get a little more competitive, Cyrus starts to distance himself and floats gently over to a nearby rock so he can watch the chaos unfold without being at risk of drowning. TJ falls back with him, taking his hand under the water and smiling from ear to ear as Marty calls foul after being dunked by Buffy.

“This was a good idea,” he says.

“I know.” Cyrus smiles but there’s something behind his eyes that TJ can’t work out. It troubles him.

“You okay?”

Cyrus turns to look him in the eye. “If I tell you something do you promise not to freak out?”

He’s already freaking out a little. Cyrus’ tone is so serious that TJ worries for a moment that he might be about to get dumped in the middle of a lake. That would suck. A break up on land would suck, let alone in the water. Wait, he’s being dumb. Cyrus isn’t going to dump him. That wouldn’t make any sense.

“Okay?”

“You’ve got to promise.”

“I promise!”

“Okay…” Cyrus takes a deep breath. “So… you know how great I think you are?”

TJ’s heart flutters and he grins at him, mischievous and teasing. “Well, obviously. I’m _awesome._ ”

Cyrus snorts and smacks him gently in the chest, sending water droplets flying. “Shut up.”

“What? You’re the one who said it! I’m just agreeing with you,” he flicks water back at him… well, it’s more like sending a wave of water over Cyrus’ head. He splutters at TJ and gives him an unimpressed look. TJ cackles and pushes away from the rock, Cyrus chasing him and splashing him back. It devolves into a small war very quickly but ends when Cyrus gets close up to TJ and grabs his face.

“I’m trying to tell you I love you, you idiot.”

Oh. Falling in love has been so much simpler than TJ ever thought it could be. When he looks at Cyrus the world around them brightens. Suddenly, doors open and he has a future. Cyrus _believes_ in him. Cyrus makes him believe in himself. When they're together he knows he can be something. There must be a catch, right? Some sort of price for this blessing. He can't imagine getting something this good for free.

“TJ? Say something,” Cyrus snaps him out of his reverie with a concerned look on his face.

“I love you too.” The words leave his lips without him even thinking about it. They feel like second nature. Like fact. The sun is burning, water is wet, the grass is green… TJ loves Cyrus. Simple as that.

“You do?” Cyrus’ smile is tentative and disbelieving like maybe he thinks he didn’t hear TJ right.

“Of course.”

And that’s how all the others find out that they’re in love too - Cyrus can’t help himself from pulling TJ into a kiss right then and there. TJ feels like his life is a movie right now. He’s got a whole group of friends wolf-whistling and cheering in support as the boy he loves kisses him as if his life depends on it. He has a real future ahead of him. There are adults watching out for him.

He’s free, even if just for a second, he is free.

 

*******

 

July goes by in a blur of teenage tomfoolery. Jonah and Marty manage to convince TJ to join their summer baseball team. It turns out to be organised by Coach Rez who’s very enthusiastic about TJ taking part - he even suggests that TJ could play on the team at school next year. He entertains the idea of it - a few months ago he would’ve declined and called it stupid straight away. A few months ago he didn’t think he’d still be in Shadyside during the summer. Now though, the idea of being part of a team doesn’t sound too bad. He likes the hoots and the chirps from his friends as he stands up to bat. The sense of camaraderie is intoxicating. Cyrus and the girls show up to every game, bringing along their other friends Iris, Amber and Libby, to cheer obnoxiously. Even Reed and Lester are there sometimes, heckling the boys with no care who’s on what side. At home, TJ digs out his old baseball bat and it takes up a permanent residence in the kitchen when he’s not using it. His mom smiles every time she sees it and takes to ruffling his hair a lot more. He ducks his head and pretends to complain, but it’s pretty great.

The group haunts the arcade like a collection of ghosts who died there, racking up their high scores and drinking way too many slurpies. Sometimes after spending an afternoon there, they’ll head back to someone’s house and put on a movie (after arguing for an hour over which movie first of course). TJ learns that he loves _The Goonies_ and hates _The Breakfast Club_ . _Gremlins_ has him howling at parts of it and Cyrus spends a week after watching it demanding that someone get him his own Mogwai because Gizmo is the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

One night Marty convinces everyone to explore the old abandoned house on the edge of town, but they last all of ten minutes before Chief Beck appears out of the dark making them all scream. He rolls his eyes and tells them they can’t be there in that stern voice of his, then invites everyone home for dinner. It’s one of the weirdest nights TJ’s ever had - everyone seems so comfortable at the Beck residence like it’s not unusual for them to be there. At one point, Beck pulls him aside to tell him quietly that he’s there if TJ ever needs anything and he doesn’t know what else to do other than nod and say thank you. From then on he’s at Jonah’s house a lot more.

They go to parties and out for milkshakes. TJ spends a day holding Andi and Libby’s bags at the mall listening to them chat about clothes and doesn’t mind it at all. He meets Bex again when he drops the girls off and she smiles, asking if he’s staying for pizza. He does.

He even has dinner with the Goodmans' one night. It’s weird but nice. He suspects it’s going to take a while for them to warm up to him, but as long as Cyrus is happy then he is too.

There’s one evening where he and Cyrus park in a field and wait for the fireflies to come out. It’s the first time he’s ever seen them and Cyrus laughs in delight at his amazed expression. They look so beautiful and the hum of crickets makes him feel like he’s walked into a fantasy world. That night when he’s lying on the ground with Cyrus, staring at him while he points out the constellations, all he can think is _"I have never wanted to know somebody the way I want to know you."_

Falling in love is simple. He stops waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

*******

It’s late when TJ gets home from the skatepark (Jonah and Reed have been teaching him to ride a board) but his mom isn’t back yet. Earlier she had mentioned something about going out for drinks with a couple of her colleagues so he suspects when she does come back she’ll be a little giggly and a lot tipsy but that’s not such a bad thing. It’s nice that she’s going out and making friends again, it’s been a long time since she’s been able to do that.

He shrugs out of his jacket and slings it across the back of one of the living room armchairs, then heads for his bedroom stretching the tired muscles of his arms as he goes. However, before he gets to his room he notices the door to his mom’s is open slightly and the sight of something inside stops him dead in his tracks.

Carefully, he pushes the door open a little wider. There on her dresser sits the mystery letter from a couple of weeks before, envelope tucked away neatly and sticking up just behind her jewellery box. He can see the writing on the front from where he stands but can’t quite make it out.

It would be wrong to go in his mother’s room and look at her mail, he tells himself as he sidles into the room. It would be very very wrong to pick up the envelope and look at it.

 **_‘LAURA’_ **is scrawled across the front in blocky marker-pen letters that suggest they were meant to be seen. Underneath it, printed with care in different handwriting, someone has squeezed in the address for number twelve Wickers Street. Something about the way his mom’s name has been written makes his gut clench. He recognises that handwriting.

His fingers tremble as he tugs the letter out of the envelope. It’s been folded and refolded, creased so much that he knows immediately his mom has read it more than once and maybe even crumpled it up to throw away at some point. He flattens it out on the dresser under the lamplight to read.

 

 

 

> **_My dearest Laura,_ **
> 
> **_Long time no see, right? I’ve been missing you these last few years. How have you been? I hope you’ve been thinking of me as much as I’ve been thinking of you. A man should not be without his wife for so long, you know. Of course, it is because of you that we’re apart. If you hadn’t called the police that night we would’ve been fine. Y_** **_ou’ve always been so dramatic, we really should work on that._ **
> 
> **_I hear you’re working as a hairdresser now. You know you wouldn’t have to work if I was still there. A wife shouldn’t have to work to feed her child alone. How is TJ, by the way? Still acting out at school? No worries. We can work on that too. You won’t have to be alone much longer. I’m coming home to you. Good behaviour gets you all sorts of things when it comes to prison - shortened sentences are a blessing, wouldn’t you say?_ **
> 
> **_No fear, my love. We shall be reunited soon. I cannot wait to feel your skin on mine again. I’ve missed my family so much._ **
> 
> **_Watch out for me. Not long now. I look forward to seeing you._ **
> 
> **_Yours forever,_ **
> 
> **_Michael_ **

 

Panic hits TJ like a bulldozer. He’s back. He’s out of jail. His father is back. Why didn’t his mom tell him? Why didn’t she say something? She could have asked him for help. They could be packing right now. They could be on the road far away never looking back. He doesn’t need to find them. He _can’t_ find them.

Fear rolls in his gut and he can feel the bile rising up. When his father was first arrested, TJ can remember one of the police officers crouching down and reassuring him that he was safe now. He never had to worry about him again. That had been a lie and TJ knows that now. Since his father was locked up there has not been a day where TJ has walked free and unburdened by his existence. He's there, lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for the day he makes his return. TJ can't forget him. He sees him every time he looks in the bathroom mirror.

What if he sees him in person too? They were happy here. TJ and his mom were happy here in Shadyside. They were getting their lives together and now that’s all going to go away. Michael Kippen always has and always will be a bringer of destruction. He will take everything good about this town and suck the colour right out of it.

TJ is as good as dead if he is out of jail. He wants to scream.

They were right. All the people that told him he was worthless, good for nothing, a danger to the people around him... they've always been right. He brings nothing but problems and pain to everyone around him. It doesn't matter how good his intentions are or what he does to try and prevent it; bad things follow him and once again they've caught up. Cyrus isn't safe in TJ's life anymore, maybe he never was in the first place... he should never have gotten him involved. He can't risk him getting hurt. He has to end it.  
  
And he has to do it in a way that it will stick.


	9. Eight

Cyrus has been waiting at the roller rink for almost half an hour now. He tells himself he shouldn’t be surprised, TJ isn’t often on time, but he can’t ignore the niggling feeling of doubt in the back of his mind. TJ isn’t often on time, but he’s never been _this_ late. In fact, the longest he’s ever made Cyrus wait was when he was ten minutes late to an arcade date and he actually sprinted through the mall to meet him then spent the next fifteen minutes apologising for being late. Cyrus doesn’t really mind that TJ works on his own clock, but the point is tonight it seems like a bad sign.

They’ve been planning this evening for a couple of weeks now; a night out roller skating with the whole gang. Even Libby, Iris and their friend Walker have tagged along for it. The others are all out there now, sliding across the rink and laughing under the colourful fluorescent glow of the disco lights. Cyrus hasn’t even put his skates on yet. He wants to wait until TJ is here… he’d been really excited about it for the past few days, after all. It seemed rude to start without him. When the others had suggested he give up on the waiting and let TJ find him when he gets here, he’d baulked at the idea. Now he’s starting to wonder if they’re right. TJ would want him to have fun. TJ wants to have fun too. It was _his_ idea.

So where is he?

He sighs at his feet, chin resting in his hands. Maybe TJ’s car wouldn’t start and he’s having to walk. Maybe he got caught up helping his mom with something. Maybe there’s simply been a misunderstanding about times. Cyrus mulls over the possibilities as he watches a pair of girls in too-bright shorts tumble to the ground in a giggling mess of limbs. That could be him and TJ right now, but it’s not. It probably says something about how codependent he’s become with TJ that Cyrus gives up and hands his skates back to the girl behind the counter instead of joining his friends. That fact warrants some further thought later, but for now, he’s focused on finding out where TJ has gotten to. He heads for the side of the floor and signals to Jonah.

“What’s up? Jonah asks a little breathlessly as he slides over.

“I’m gonna go find TJ, don’t wait up for me. We’ll find you after for dinner, okay?”

His brow crinkles in concern. “You sure?”

Cyrus nods and the two of them follow up with a quick bro hug over the barrier before Jonah skates off to tell the others. There’s a twinge of regret in Cyrus’ chest as he watches them huddle in a corner of the rink, Buffy pulling Marty out of the path of three speeding boys, so they can discuss plans. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been excited for their plans tonight too - he hasn’t been roller skating since he was a kid. It kind of sucks to miss it.

Whatever, he’s sure TJ has a good explanation for his no show.

He walks back to Wickers Street. It takes about twenty minutes, and while he’d usually rather drive he’s hoping he’ll bump into TJ on the way there. He doesn’t, of course. There’s no sign of his boyfriend anywhere and with every step he takes the more worried Cyrus grows. He chews on his lip and tries not to overthink it. It’s so unlike TJ to ditch plans without telling anyone first.

He waits at the Kippens’ front door for about five minutes, knocking periodically, before he accepts that he's not going to get an answer. Deciding that it's possible TJ has his headphones on, or he's in the shower or maybe even still asleep, Cyrus makes his way around the back to his window. It's already opened and he's greeted by a puff of cigarette smoke.  
With a disgusted noise, he waves it away from his face and peers in. TJ is sat on the floor, lounging up against the wall just beneath the window, flicking through a battered copy of _Pet Sematary_ with his free hand _._ Cyrus raps on the window frame and TJ lifts his head slowly and blows out another steady stream of smoke.

“What are you doing here?” TJ greets him. Cyrus is taken aback by the look of irritation that flickers across his face and hesitates before answering.

“You didn’t- we had plans, remember?”

“Oh, right.” TJ turns back to his book and Cyrus frowns in confusion.

“Can I come in?”

“Whatever.”

A part of him tells him he should turn around and go - TJ obviously isn’t in the mood for company. However, he thinks maybe he needs someone to talk to. Something is obviously wrong here. He slides the window up a little further and climbs inside, sinking down on to the floor next to him.

“What’s up with you? It’s not like you to bail… is everything alright?” Cyrus asks. “We waited for you for like half an hour.”

“Just didn’t feel like skating today.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that instead of ditching?”

“Oh, do I have to report my every move to you now?” TJ shuts his book and tosses it to the side, then puts his cigarette out in the ashtray by his foot and pushes off the floor. Cyrus finds himself frowning again as he struggles to his feet and follows TJ out into the hallway. They head into the kitchen and he watches as TJ opens the refrigerator in search of a snack. His shoulders are tense and hostility radiates off him in waves. Cyrus has never seen him like this before. It’s decidedly unpleasant and makes him want to do anything in his power to get TJ to calm down.

“Whatever’s going on you can talk to me-”

“No,” TJ snaps, slamming the refrigerator shut. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t have to tell you everything.”

Cyrus folds his arms and taps his foot against the floor. He’s certain he looks like his mother right now, posed in the same way she always is when she’s expressing her disappointment in somebody, but he can’t bring himself to mind. All he’s focused on is getting TJ to talk to him like an adult rather than a toddler during a tantrum.  
"I'm not here for you to take your anger out on me."

He thinks it will make TJ take a step back, reevaluate his options and chill out a little. Sometimes when he’s getting worked up all he needs is a reminder and he goes right back to normal… that’s not what happens now.  
TJ huffs in frustration, glaring at Cyrus. "Why are you here, then?!"

Confrontation isn’t Cyrus’ favourite thing in the world but he prefers communicating about problems over letting them simmer. He’d thought TJ felt the same way, but there’s obviously something they haven’t talked about that has him so riled up, something that Cyrus is missed. He grapples with his memories, looking back over everything he can think of that might have been a problem, but comes up with nothing. Things have been good. He thought things were good.

"To see if you're okay!"  
"Well, I'm not! I'm not okay! I hate being stuck in this stupid town with nowhere to go. I hate everyone knowing all my business. I hate that people think my business is their business, I'm sick of it! I just, God, I can't wait to fucking leave already."

Cyrus "I thought you wanted to stay? You said you wanted to stay.”

"I lied."

A stunned silence falls between them. TJ’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as they stare at one another. Cyrus doesn’t know what to say. How do you even respond to something like that? If he’s honest with himself he’s not really sure what’s happening. He’s seen TJ get like this with other people, heard about the way he would talk to people when he first arrived, but this abrasive attitude has never been thrown his way before. In the end, he decides to try and deescalate the situation.

"Well... We only have one year left until college-" he stutters out only to be cut off. TJ's answering laugh is void of any real amusement. There's something cruel and resentful about the sound that makes the hairs on the back of Cyrus' neck stand on end.

A contemptuous snort. "Yeah, college. Right. As if I'm gonna make it to college."

Over the past few months, Cyrus has grown used to being able to read TJ’s facial expressions. He’s come to feel like he knows him better than most, but right now that feeling is absent. TJ’s face is a blank slate as if he’s slipped a careful mask on. He wonders why he feels the need to wear such a mask in front of Cyrus - he’d thought they were beyond hiding from one another.

"We... we can't leave, Teej. We don't have any money. Where would we even go? We can't just pack up and leave.”

" _Obviously,”_ he says with a roll of his eyes. “I'm not talking about the two of us. I'm talking about me."

It’s like he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing. TJ is speaking English but the meaning behind his words doesn’t quite connect. Cyrus hates the way his voice breaks as he responds. "You?"

TJ nods, arms folded in defiance as if he’s daring Cyrus to argue with him. "Yeah, me. Just me. Alone."

 _Alone._ _Alone. Alone._

The word echoes in his mind and his chest constricts.

"But you said you wanted to be together..."

"It's not a big deal, okay? People say things they don't mean all the time." He says it with such an air of nonchalance like the words weren’t designed to deliver the punch to the gut that Cyrus feels.

Cyrus stares at him in furious disbelief. The way TJ is talking doesn’t sound anything like the boy he has come to know. The boy who loves him. It strikes him all at once what must’ve occurred; he’s been deluding himself. The boy he thought he knew doesn’t exist. He never did. He was an illusion, a fantasy, what Cyrus wanted to see but not what he actually was. All this time he thought the two of them had a connection, something deep beneath the surface that nobody else could possibly understand, but they don’t. TJ’s words are just a confirmation of every insecurity niggling at the back of his mind. He feels like a fool and the humiliation burns in a bright red blush high on his cheeks. How easily had he fallen for this? He should’ve known better than to think he could be anyone’s first choice. How could he have let himself believe that someone wanted him, that someone actually cared?

Anger overtakes his body so fast it’s a little frightening. "So what about all those things you said? About getting through stuff together. About never being alone. Was that a lie too?" All TJ does is shrug and for a moment Cyrus is gripped by the overwhelming urge to shake him. He clenches his fist in frustration. "I don't understand where all of this is coming from."

"Of course you don't." Another hollow laugh accompanies the words.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cyrus bites out.  
"You know what it means. You have this perfect life and a perfect future all set up. You're going to go to college, grow up, land the perfect job and get married. A real Stepford kind of boy.”

It’s the bitterness in TJ’s voice that stops Cyrus in his tracks. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and counts to three in his head. Whatever this anger is there must be a reasonable explanation for it. Stuff like this doesn’t just come out of nowhere. It’s possible that Cyrus is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Surely TJ doesn’t mean what he’s saying? He loves him, right?

He takes a careful step forward, reaching out. "Whatever's going on I can help-"

TJ side steps him. "No, Cyrus! No. Not everything is about you."

Cyrus pulls back his outstretched hand like it’s been burned. "I'm just trying to-"

"You're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong as usual. Why won't you just get the hint already? Leave me alone! I don't want your help. I don't want you here. I don't want you."

Processing what TJ's words is like being run through with a jagged knife. Cyrus has read about heartbreak in countless stories and always thought it would be something instant and crushing. It's not. It's blunt, slow and deliberately painful, made of piercing edges and a burning sensation in his chest. He can feel his vision burning, hot tears filling his eyes. He ducks his head away so TJ won't see. He doesn't deserve to see.

He doesn’t love him. He never did. It was all a lie.

“You’re a liar,” Cyrus spits out, directing all his fury and hurt into his words. “You’re a liar and you’re cruel. I thought we were- I thought you were different from what everyone said. You made me think you were different, but you’re not. You’re a liar and I wish I’d never met you at all.”

And then he spins on his heel and marches right out the door.

 

*******

  
It shouldn't have been that easy. He wishes it hadn't been that easy, letting the anger take over and spewing out all sorts of untruths in the wake of its destruction. Cyrus is barely out of the door before TJ is wishing he could take it all back, run after him and apologise, wishing he could explain. He can't though, he knows he can't. It's safer this way. This way when he runs no one will come looking, which is exactly how it should be. No one else deserves to get hurt because of him.

  
So he doesn't run after him. He doesn't even call his name. Instead, he crumbles. Collapsing to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees, he lets the sobs wrack through him. All he can focus on is the way his heart feels like it's cracking into a million pieces right there and how it's his own doing. He's been torn through by an invisible force that makes him want to scream.  
_"I wish I'd never met you at all."_

  
There's no taking back what he said and there's no unhearing what he heard. It's not fair. It's not fair at all. Why is that whenever things seem to be going good for him something has to come along and uproot all of it? It's like he's cursed. Cursed by his father's footsteps; destined either to walk in them or being followed by them for the rest of his life. He can't escape. He's never going to be able to stop running.

  
He doesn't know how long he sits there before the front door is creaking open again. Long enough for his tears to slow and the sobs to become hiccuping sniffles, eyes ringed red and throat sore. His head whips up at the sound, for one blinding moment he's convinced Cyrus has come back to talk it through, but it's just his mother.  
His mother.

The anger comes back full force.

“TJ?” His mom asks, voice full of concern when she spots him curled up on the ground. “What are you doing down there?”

“When were you going to tell me?” TJ asks, looking up and meeting her eyes as steadily as he can. His voice comes out hoarse, rasping and pained. He pushes the soreness to the side and narrows his focus onto her startled expression.

She puts her bags on the side but doesn’t take her eyes off him, expression full of confusion and uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

On shaky legs, he stands, pulling himself to full height and stepping towards her.

“When were you going to tell me that dad got out? I saw the letter.”

Her eyes widen and she folds her arms, trying to look disapproving. The effect is somewhat ruined by the obvious unease in her tone. “What were you doing going through my things?”

“Seriously?” He stares at her. “That’s seriously all you have to say? Dad’s out, he _knows where we are_ , and you didn’t tell me! And that’s all you have to say about it? Are you fucking serious right now, mom?”

“He doesn’t-”

He hates the way his voice raises but he can’t seem to stop himself, all his frustration and resent unfurling in the air between them. “That’s not the kind of stuff you keep a secret! I mean, what the hell are we still doing here?! We should be on the road! We should’ve packed our bags weeks ago and gotten the hell out!”

“TJ please calm-” she begins to plead.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He yells. “Our lives are literally in danger, mom! And you didn’t think to let me know! He’ll fucking kill us mom, he’ll kill us!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” She yells back, going from uneasy to annoyed in the flick of a switch and matching his volume. “You think I don’t know?! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to _worry,_ you’re not supposed to have to worry that’s _my_ job! I was keeping you safe-”

“This concerns both of us! How is not telling me keeping me safe?! He could just show up any time he wants!” The fight drains out of him quickly as he blows out a deep breath. “We need to _go._ ”

“We are not leaving,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “We aren’t going anywhere-”

“It’s not safe here, mom-”

“I think I know what’s safe and what isn’t, thank you very much!”

“You seriously want to stay?”

“Yes, and if you just listened to me you might-”

TJ shakes his head vehemently and his feet are moving before he even thinks about it. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and the keys from the side then heads for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His mom calls, hurrying after him.

He doesn’t look back as he replies, “I don’t know. I’m getting out of here. If you won’t leave then fine, but I’m not gonna stick around like a sitting duck waiting to get shot.”

There’s anger in the hard set of his shoulders as he climbs into the car. Anger, fear and a sense of regret that he begs his brain not to dwell on. He forces himself not to look back at her in the rearview mirror, not wanting to think about how bad screaming at his mom feels. He doesn’t want to see the look of hurt he knows will be on his face. He doesn’t want to think about how he’s effectively just made the decision to flee and leave her behind. He doesn’t want to think about the way Cyrus looked at him as he spat out lie after lie. It all hurts like sharp knives in his gut. He doesn’t want to feel.

Driving into the city feels like an eternity.

Jim’s apartment block looms over him as a towering and familiar giant. It calls to him, welcoming him home, brushing off the lint on his jacket and offering up a mat on which he might wipe his grubby shoes. He knows if he goes inside right now he’ll be enveloped by the feeling of warm comfort built into the walls by memories. He knows he’ll be safe there. He only makes it as far as the dingy hallway before turning around and heading back down the stairs.

Books and movies like to talk about bravery like it’s this easy thing to find inside of you. It’s not. Being brave takes some bravery in itself, and sometimes that kind of courage is impossible to muster. Over the past few months, TJ thinks he’s been pretty brave. He made the choice to settle down and let himself be loved. He made the choice to trust those new friends of his. He made the choice to move on from his past despite the feeling in his gut that kept telling him to run. All of those had been brave choices - too bad they were the wrong ones. Being brave doesn’t count for much anymore, he thinks. It hasn’t gotten him anywhere new. It hasn’t done anything to make him any safer. He is never going to outrun his past and he is never going to be able to face up to it either, at least not without coming out dead.

It’s not a battle he can win.

He takes the stairs two at a time and the wheels of the car practically scream against the tarmac as he hauls his way out of there. Bothering his uncle suddenly seems like the worst idea in the world. He doesn’t think he could stand the pitying look Jim would give him, the suggestion that he go home and talk it out with his mom. He doesn’t want the sage advice or the false wisdom of a man who believes he can fix everything. No. What he wants right now is to drown out all the voices screaming at him, abusing him, telling him what a scam of a person he is. It’s like being launched back into his last few days living in the city. All he wants is to get lost.

 

*******

 

The club is packed, typical of a Friday night, and breathing in the smoky air is like a taste of freedom for a few brief moments after TJ steps through the door. Making a beeline for the bar he relishes the way he can’t walk more than a foot forward without knocking into another body. At this point, the place is probably way past its legal capacity. In the days before that might’ve bothered him, too many people intruding on the place he went to escape, but tonight he’s grateful for it. Here he cannot be touched by reality. It’s a fantasy world full of neon makeup and tight clothes.

Cory raises an eyebrow when he spots him leaning over the bar like he’s sizing TJ up and doesn’t really like what he sees right now, but he doesn’t say anything about it if that’s the case. All he does is give TJ a nod in greeting, grab a fresh glass and fill it up with a bright blue mix before shoving it towards him.

“Be careful,” he warns, then turns his back while TJ chugs it.

It’s actually freeing, giving up on giving a shit. He doesn’t have to worry about what anyone thinks of him now. He’s not trying to get kicked out of anywhere, deliberately making a bad impression, and he’s not trying to prove he’s worth it anymore. There’s no one left in his life to prove that too, after all. Cyrus is gone. His friends will be gone too. He left his mother behind crying in a house that no longer feels like home. He’s free to do as he wishes as he shoves his way on to the dancefloor. It doesn’t take him long to find a group to join, pressing up against one another and dancing in a cluster of strangers. They’re not regulars. He doesn’t recognise any of the faces around him like he used to. He wishes he didn’t wish he did.

The loneliest feeling in the world is looking around you and realising you're surrounded by people but you can't tell them anything.

It’s strange and a little bit awful going from lonely to loved to lonely again. The past few months have been a beautiful disillusion; he genuinely believed he had a future. There were people there for him, people to talk to, people who tried to understand. They wouldn’t understand now. They wouldn’t understand this. He knows if he talked to them, if he told them what was going on, they’d try to help. They can’t help. This is his battle and his alone. It wouldn’t be fair to drag them all into the world of misery his existence creates. The others, Cyrus, they all have a future. He was kidding himself to think he could have the same. Still, he wishes he could thank them for the past few weeks, for that brief reprieve from fear, for the fantasy they gave him. It’s too late for that now.

He’s going to party like it’s his last day on earth because for all he knows it might just be. He needs another drink.

 

*******

 

It’s been a long time since TJ’s been on his knees and vomiting into a toilet. He hasn’t missed it. The world spins in a blurring smudge around him as he tries to keep steady, braced between the toilet bowl and the sturdy stall divider. The door bangs open and shut a couple of times, letting the music of the club outside go from muffled to booming for brief seconds at a time, shadows falling over him and noises of disgust being made at his appearance. He lost his jacket a couple of hours back and he’s pretty sure there’s vomit mixed with the sweat in his hair, but he’s finding it hard to care right now.

“C’mon, up you get. Time to go, champ.”

TJ squints at the person leaning over him as a familiar face comes into focus. “Jimmy?”

Jim smiles down at him and for a moment he thinks he might be hallucinating, but then he smells the faint scent of tobacco mixing with that familiar cheap cologne and he knows he’s not. His uncle is here. His uncle is here in all his

“Drink this,” he thrusts a glass of water at TJ, forces him to take it in his clumsy hand and lifts it to his lips. Water splashes down his front, but after a second he manages to get the hang of drinking enough to wash the taste of puke out from his mouth. “Keep drinking, you need to sober up.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” He asks, trying not to slur his words too much. He’s not entirely sure that he’s successful if Jim’s amused smirk is anything to go by.

“Saving your ass from getting thrown out,” Jim says. “You think you can stand?”

TJ regards his surroundings. The stall is as clean as they come in a place like this, floor sticky with spilt drinks, walls covered in scrawled phone numbers and bad drawings. His shirt is sticking to him and it looks like his aim wasn’t completely on point after he rushed in to empty his guts. If sober the mere sight of it all would probably make him want to throw up again, but in his current state, it merely dawns on him in a slow train of thought that it might be time for him to leave.

He struggles upright, Jim grabbing one of his arms and pulls it over his shoulder so TJ can lean into his side as the two of them stagger out of the bathroom. Getting out of the club is a nightmare but at one point Cory appears, slipping himself under TJ’s other arm to help steady him, and eventually, they make it outside. In the morning he’s going to be completely mortified thinking about this all, but right now he has more on his mind.

They wind up outside the club, down the side alley where the world gets a little quieter and TJ can almost think straight. Cory asks twice if TJ and Jim will be alright before giving them an uncertain nod and heading back to work. The sound of night crawling folk and distant sirens is not the comfort it once was tonight. Above them, a street lamp flickers on and off erratically in a pace that matches TJ’s thoughts. Usually, he’d try to avoid the puddles beneath them, unsure of whether they’re made from rainwater or something else. Tonight he takes no notice of the ground and lets the damp soak through the bottom of his beat-up kicks. Nothing feels real, just like he wanted, but he suddenly wishes it did.

Beside him, Jim pulls out a pack of Marlboros and offers them to TJ. He shakes his head, for once not feeling the itch to smoke his worries away, so Jim just shrugs and lights his own. They stand in companionable silence for a couple of moments, Jim smoking and TJ contemplating his own bad decisions, before Jim breaks it.

“You sure know how to make one hell of a scene, kid.”

TJ smiles to himself. It’s something his uncle has said to him a million times before during some of the more ridiculous moments of his life, but it’s never felt as fitting as it does right now.

“How’d you find me?”

“Your mom called all frantic, told me about your fight and how you took the car. I figured you’d come here. Old habits die hard and all. Plus, Cory sent Jeff to my apartment looking for help.”

Mentally, he knocks his palm against his own forehead. He had forgotten that Cory and Jeff knew where Jim lived. They’d had to deliver him home a few times in the past, after all. They must’ve figured it was a safer bet to bring Jim to him than get puke all over the club floor trying to haul TJ himself out of there. He shakes his head and pushes that thought to the side, that’s a conversation for another day, for now, he needs to focus on the important things like his mom.

“She tell you why we fought?”

Jim nods, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. TJ waits for him to say something, anything, on the matter but he just leans his head back against the wall and watches the smoke rise into the air as he breathes out.

“Dad’s back,” TJ prompts, eying his Uncle suspiciously. He thought he’d have more of a reaction.

“I know,” Says Jim. “I’m the one who got the letter in the first place.”

“What?”

“He put it through my door. I sent it to your mom, we talked about it, everything’s fine. He doesn’t know where you guys are as far as I know.”

TJ stares at him and everything begins to click into place. His mom said she was trying to keep him safe, trying not to worry, not wanting to move. They _were_ safe. He had yelled at her for nothing… he had ruined things with Cyrus for _nothing_.

He lets his head thunk back against the wall with a groan. “I’m such an idiot. God, I didn’t even let her explain. I just assumed. Mom must hate me right now.”

Jim huffs out a small laugh. “You always did like being dramatic, your mom knows that. Plus, you were angry. Shit happens when people are angry. She doesn’t hate you, Teej. She’s worried about you, sure, but she could never hate you.”

“I fucked everything up,” he sighs, staring at the way the canvas of his shoes is soaking up the puddle. “I always fuck everything up.”

“Hey,” Jim’s tone is serious all of a sudden. “TJ, look at me.”

TJ lets his head lull to the side so he’s looking at him properly.

“Shit. Happens. Okay? I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but it was just an argument. It’s going to be okay. You can fix this. I promise.”

“It’s not just the stuff with mom…”

“Then what is it?”

TJ mumbles something drunkenly at his feet and Jim flicks him on the shoulder. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” TJ says, slightly louder.

“Tough,” Jim replies. “We’re talking about it. What’s going on with you? I know this stuff with your dad is hard, you can’t be having the best time right now. We’ve gotta talk about this stuff it ain’t shit you can just bottle up.”

“Ji- _im_ ,” he whines.

Jim just flicks him again. TJ sighs.

“There’s a guy.”

“Ah,” Jim nods. “‘Course.”

“I hurt him. After I found the letter, I panicked and I just… I hurt him.”

Jim raises his eyebrows.

“Not physically!” TJ hastens to add. “Just… with words. But. They were really bad words. I fucked it up. Thought I was protecting him…”

“Protecting him or protecting yourself?”

“What?”

“No offence, Champ, but you’ve always been pretty good at self-sabotage. I get it, it’s how you keep yourself safe and all, but you know you gotta let people in at some point. You spend forever pushing away everyone who gets close to you. The point of loving people is that you have someone to face your fears with. It’s all about teamwork and communication.”

“But… they’re not safe around me. What if dad did find me and he hurt them? What if he didn’t, but _I_ hurt someone instead? What if I get angry and I lose it? I already beat up a guy this-”

“You are not Michael,” Jim says firmly. “Stop telling yourself you are. The fact that this kind of stuff is a worry for you already tells me who you are, TJ. You’re not someone who wants to hurt the people he loves. You’re not a bad person. You’re just a kid. A messed up, slightly confused, kid, but still a kid.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Everyone’s an idiot at seventeen.”

They lapse into silence once again, TJ trying not to collapse under the weight of the world around him. He’s grateful for Jim’s presence then and there. He’s missed the calm reasoning and the amusement that makes bad things seem a lot less terrible than they originally seemed.

“Jimmy?” He asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, kid. I’m scared too.” Jim stubs out his cigarette against the wall then ruffles TJ’s hair. “We’re going to get through this, though. Like I said, you can fix this stuff. And when you do I wanna meet this boy of yours.”

TJ lets himself smile a small smile, thinking back to Cyrus saying he’d like to meet Jimmy. He hopes his uncle is right about being able to fix things.

“You’ll like him,” TJ says, eyes slipping closed. “He likes talkin’ ‘bout feelings too…”

“Hey, whoa!” Suddenly Jimmy’s grabbing his shoulders. “No falling asleep in alleys. C’mon, stand up properly. I’m taking you home.”

 

*******

 

The lights of the house are still on when they pull into the driveway. Guilt rolls in a thick wave through TJ’s whole body as he thinks about the way he left his mother standing there on the porch calling after him earlier. The reality of his actions is just now hitting him. He just left her there in the wake of his anger, thinking maybe his dad was coming back for them, without a second thought. He _abandoned_ her.

“I can’t do this,” he says.

“Yes you can,” Jim says. “I told you already she’s just worried about you. You just need to sit down and talk about things, okay? Maybe wait until you’re a little less drunk though. Sleep on it or something,” there’s a hint of disbelief in Jim’s voice like he knows his sister and nephew are both incapable of being patient when it comes to these things.

“I guess.”

“You want me to come in?”

TJ shakes his head. “You’re right, me and mom need to talk. And you have work tomorrow, you should probably get some sleep. A regular sleep schedule is the key to good mental health, y’know?”

It’s something Cyrus has said to him multiple times and it makes Jim snort loudly.

“Rich coming from you, but you’re probably right.”

“See you later,” TJ says, grabbing the car handle and missing a couple of times before he finally manages to swing the door open and clamber out. “Thanks, Jim.”

“No problem. I’ll call you guys tomorrow,” Jim says.

TJ waves him off and watches the car's tail lights disappear down the street before heading up to the house. He doesn’t remember when he got his jacket back but he makes a mental note to thank Jim tomorrow for retrieving it, especially since it has his house key in it.

“Mom, I’m home,” he calls as he slips through the door. “I’m sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have yelled… can we-”

He stops in his tracks.

“Welcome home, TJ,” Michael Kippen smiles at his son.

  
  
  



	10. Nine

_ Once upon a time, there was a perfect nuclear family. The Kippens they were called, a swell family of three, and they were beloved by all. They had a perfect house, a perfect yard and a perfect life. They were the real American Dream... or so it seemed from the outside. Behind closed doors, the Kippens were nuclear alright. A nuclear disaster. Their home was a cold war, the constant threat of destruction lingered thick in the air and it wasn’t because of anything to do with politics. Michael Kippen was a bomb ready to go off at any moment and his explosions could never be avoided even if those around him were taking cover… _

It’s been a long time since TJ has felt fear as strong as this. Flashbacks of his past can bring on nausea, dreams and memories can hurt his head, but they are nothing when it comes to confronting the real thing. His past stood before him in the flesh. It poisons his blood and turns it to ice. It makes his pulse pound like an army of drummers inside of his head. He forgets how to breathe. There are shadows rolling in from all sides and all he can focus on now is the man in front of him. A cruel smile leering at him out of the darkness - his own eyes looking back at him like every morning in the mirror. Except, it’s no mirror this time. Michael Kippen’s presence is a real, tangible, terrifying thing and TJ’s feet are rooted to the floor. He cannot run.

“Welcome home, TJ.”

Michael Kippen is not a man who can be ignored easily. His appearance immediately draws attention; six foot two of broad shoulders and thick arms, he holds himself with unearned authority and an air of confidence which intimidates those around him. He might come off as distrustful to those who did not know him merely due to his sheer size, but he has a deceitfully charming face and it has fooled one too many people in the past. A wolf in sheep’s clothing is how Jim once described him, although TJ thinks that is too kind. A wolf can be pleasant, but any pleasantries handed out by Michael are a veiled and selfish means to an end that suits him best. No, a wolf does not fit him. TJ sees him more as the monster under the bed.

Michael is not alone in the house. At the kitchen table next to him sits TJ’s mom, her eyes as full of fear as TJ’s own heart. High on her cheek, a red mark has been painted by the hard force of an unforgiving hand and it makes TJ’s blood boil on sight. He wouldn’t dare mention it right then, though, because there’s a third presence too, not that of a person but that of a pistol. TJ recognises it as his father’s old M1911 which he used to lovingly wipe down in the living room when he was in a good mood, reminiscing about his time in Vietnam and talking about how men these days were too soft for their own good. It sits on the tabletop in front of them, an ugly thing not meant to be mastered by a man with an ugly temper, and the two of them together make for a deadly equation.

When TJ swallows it feels like razors in his suddenly dry throat. “Dad,” he croaks out in greeting, trying not to let his gaze linger on the gun. He should’ve taken Jim up on his offer to come inside. He thinks of the tail lights fading away in the distance and it occurs to him all at once that there’s nobody to call for help. Not that they could help anyway. What would Jim even be able to do? He doesn’t believe in carrying arms. They’d still be defenceless even if he were here. 

“It’s been a while,” Michael drawls his pleasant drawl, leaning back on his chair and swinging his legs, hands rested in a comfortable fashion on his stomach. “Why don’t you sit? We’re having a family meeting.”

His words are phrased as a suggestion but TJ’s whole body responds to it like an order, his feet carrying him forward without question like they know what will happen if he disobeys. Trying not to shake as he does he slides into the chair across from his father.

“What are you doing here?”

“ _ ‘It’s nice to see you, dad, long time no see. How’re things?’ _ ” Michael’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Nice to see you too, son. Things are great,  _ thanks for asking _ , but that’s no thanks to the two of you. Got out on good behaviour y’know… though I wouldn’t have had to get out at all if it weren’t for you ungrateful brats sending me in in the first place.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. 

“We didn’t-”

**BANG.**

The chair legs come down Michael’s fist slams down on the table hard and he lets out a harsh bark of, “Be quiet!”

TJ’s jaw snaps shut setting into a hard line. Michael relaxes, smoothing back his hair and plastering on a fake smile, then leans back into his lazy posture. In a matter of seconds, he has switched from calm and collected to pure fury and right back again as if nothing changed at all. The atmosphere of the room is charged high with tension. It’s a solemn reminder of how much things have changed since he went away. 

“So… lots to catch up on,” that pleasant drawl is back accompanied by its usual amused smirk. He talks as if he’s been away on a mere vacation… as if they are all just old friends getting together to gossip about the in-between moments of their lives. “But we have time for that later. Your mother and I were just discussing our future.”

TJ unsticks his jaw and takes a deep breath. “Our future?”

His mom is quivering where she’s sat, arms pulled tight around herself, and TJ fights to keep down the bile rising from his gut. 

Michael nods and gestures around them. “Oh yes. Obviously, now that I’m home, we can’t stay in this old crapshack. It’s way too small, honestly Laura I don’t know what you were thinking. This is why you’re meant to leave this kinda shit up to me, you’re no good at it, you should never’ve left the old house. I don’t get why you’d wanna live with Jimmy either,” he sneers Jim’s name like it’s a dirty word. “He’s just as fucking useless.”

She nods in automatic agreement, the kind of jerking movement that’s born out of self-defence rather than actual belief, and TJ clenches his fists by his side. His nails dig into his palms and he knows it’s going to leave marks but he can’t quite bring himself to care. Maybe it’s the drinks he’s had tonight or maybe it’s the amount of time he’s had away from his father’s reign of terror but, either way, there’s a sudden bolt of bravery coursing through his veins.

“How did you even find us?”

Something grows dark in Michael’s expression.

“You’re a creature of habit, kid. I know your favourite little spots back home. You don’t think I know about that fag bar you visit? Addicts and perverts, they’re all the same, easy to find if you know where to look. Following you back to this shithole was simple. But don’t you worry, that won’t be a problem much longer, I’m here now. I’ll knock the pervert outta you if I have to.”

He says it in such a way that you would almost think he’s not talking of violence, the way one might discuss dinner plans or what to put on the grocery list. In the past, this exact tone has always inspired more fear than calm in the Kippen family, but not now. A dull roaring starts up in TJ’s ears from the word ‘fag’ and grows louder with every word Michael spits after that. For once, there is no shame colouring his cheeks as a result of the slur. There is no shame filling his gut making him wish he could wash who he was off his skin in the shower. There is only the memory of Donnie Seabrook sneering and the shuttered look on Cyrus’ face. This memory is followed quickly by snippets of Cyrus’ laughter, of his bright smile, of the way it shone through the cracks in TJ’s armour like sunlight. Michael could weave as much hatred and disgust as he wanted into that word but it will never change what TJ now knows - love is beautiful whatever form it comes in. It’s a guiding light in the dark. Something that pushes people to do better, to be better, to change. Yes, it can hurt like hell, but at the end of the day isn’t it so worth it? What does it matter who it applies to when it brings on such joy? Loving a boy does not make TJ wrong, it only serves to make him stronger. He has loved and been loved in a way that Michael Kippen will never know, and all that does is make TJ pity his father a little. 

It’s strange feeling pity for a man who has previously inspired nothing but fear in him, but he can’t make it go away. He doesn’t want to. Pity, he thinks, is something Michael Kippen has never known before. Pity,  _ sympathy _ , sets the two of them apart. Pity gives him power, and with power comes great responsibility.

_ “You’re not your dad,” _ whispers Cyrus’ voice in his mind.  _ “You never will be.” _

_ “You are not Michael,” _ Jim’s voice agrees.  _ “...Everyone’s an idiot at seventeen.” _

He knows what he has to do. It as if something has clicked in his brain as he lets those words wash over him. He is not his father. He is not cruel, uncaring, or unforgiving. He is just a boy who sometimes gets a little bit lost along the way, but will never be truly  _ gone  _ in the way he has always feared because now… now he knows he’s loved. 

Or he was. 

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. ” _

He’d ruined it.

_ No, _ comes another small voice,  _ you didn’t ruin it. He did. That man sat across from you. He’s been ruining your life for years and now it’s time to put an end to it. _

Beside him, his mother lets out a quiet sob and TJ turns to look at her. She is looking right back at him, watery eyes wide and frightened, but not in the way he’d imagined she would be. He realises all at once that she’s not scared of Michael, no, she’s scared  _ for  _ her son.

Laura Kippen has spent the last few years running alongside TJ, the two of them making their great escape from the past together, and not once did he stop to think why. He had assumed it was because she’d become as sick of hearing the ghost Michael’s footsteps around every corner too, and maybe part of it was, but he had never thought about how she might be doing it for him. Running away not to save herself but to save the person she loves most in the world. She had said herself she didn’t tell him Michael had been released from prison because she didn’t want him to worry. She just wanted him to be able to live his life, to be able to be that idiot seventeen-year-old that Jim had laughed about, to be who he  _ is  _ without punishment. Laura Kippen loves her son, she always has done and she always will, and she was willing to risk the wrath of a monster to keep him safe.

He  _ is  _ loved. He is loved by his mother, he is loved by Jim, and even if he shot it all to hell with Cyrus he still knows that he’s loved by that boy too. He has friends now, people who will look out for him, teachers and cops and bartenders that want to keep him safe. Whatever Michael Kippen likes to think about him he’s wrong because TJ is not alone. TJ has not been alone for a long time - it just took him a while to notice.

So he straightens his shoulders, turns his gaze back to his father, and looks him in the eye. 

“You don’t scare me,” he says, letting the pieces fall where they may. 

“What did you say to me?” Michael growls, face growing dark. 

“I said you don’t scare me,” TJ repeats, refusing to look away. “You used to scare me, I’ll give you that, but that was then when I didn’t know any better. Now I know the truth though.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” There’s a dangerous note in Michael’s voice, but TJ refuses to give in.

He presses on with even more ferocity. “That you’re scared too. You’re just a sad, pathetic, loser of a man who doesn’t know where his place in the world is anymore. We-” he gestures between himself and his mom. “-don’t need you anymore… wait no, scratch that, we  _ never  _ needed you. We’ve done just fine, better, without you. You can say we’re meant to be together and that we’re a family all you like but that won’t make it true. You’ve lost control and you think using your fists will help you hold on, but it won’t and we both know it. You’re irrelevant. I feel sorry for you.”

That does it. His father is on his feet and the table goes across the floor before TJ can even blink. He flinches hard and bites down on his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain as it knocks hard against his shins. His mother shrieks, reflexively throwing her arms up to protect her face and shrinking back. 

“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!” Michael roars, gun waving in one hand. “WHAT DID YOU SAY? SOMEBODY OUGHTA TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS, BOY-”

TJ scrambles out of the way as his father advances with fury blazing a trail in his eyes, kicking his chair back behind him and sending it crashing into the counter. A vague sorry thought flashes through his mind about how messed up the kitchen will be after this and he wonders how much it will cost to repair it, but that’s overshadowed by the hope that maybe the neighbours will hear the commotion and call it in, after all, what are nosy neighbourhood busybodies for? 

It’s a longshot, he knows, but he has to  _ try _ .

The problem with Number Twelve Wickers Street, in terms of escaping an unhinged man on a warpath, is that it’s not quite big enough to have any place to hide. TJ gets as far as the hallway before he feels Michael’s careless grip on the back of his collar. He pulls him back with one strong tug, cutting off his air and sending him tumbling to the ground at his feet. TJ’s head hits the wall, hard, and for a brief moment, his vision swims from the sharp pain that goes shooting through his skull. 

“Michael, stop!” Laura screams, running forward and trying to intervene.

Michael shoves her back, forcing her to stagger into the wall. “THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, BITCH!” He screams, spittle flying through the air, and he raises his gun. Everything seems to move in slow motion for a moment and TJ’s stop drops, certain he’s about to see his mother get shot, but Michael doesn’t pull the trigger. He continues to raise the gun then brings it down  _ hard  _ into Laura’s face. She collapses to the floor like a marionette that’s had its strings cut, lying silent and unmoving on the ground. 

TJ screams.

“Get up!” Michael orders and sends a swift kick into TJ’s gut, making him yelp and gasp for air. “Get up you useless piece of shit, face me like a man!” 

His words send another wave of fury through TJ. He struggles to his feet, swaying a little, and stumbles backwards into the kitchen once more. Michael is blocking the entryway now. His mom curls up in the corner crying softly, and though he wants to do nothing more than crouch down beside her to check that she’s okay he knows he can’t risk it. He takes another step back as Michael looms over him, keeps stepping back until his spine hits the counter, and looks around wildly. His heart beats so hard it feels as if it might burst right out of his ribs in a splintering bloody mess. Weapons… he needs a weapon. Something to defend himself with.

Knives! It dawns on him all of a sudden, the kitchen is stocked with cooking knives. He reaches out for the knife block by the stove, stretching his fingers desperately in the hopes of getting a handle on at least one, but Michael sees what he’s doing sweeps his arm across the countertop. The movement sends the blades cascading to the floor with a hopeless clatter and TJ swears. 

Michael’s sweaty grip catches hold of his shirt once more and spins him around, bringing the two of them face to face, his unpleasant breath washing over his son’s face. TJ forces himself not to gag and tries to stabilise his feet, but Michael shakes him. He can’t get his father’s hands off him and the only reprieve comes in the half a second during which Michael releases the shirt collar only to fasten his fingers around TJ’s throat. He pulls him forward and shoves him back hard, twice, moving TJ like a ragdoll and bruising his back against the wooden cabinets. TJ’s helpless fingers scrabble against Michael’s hand and only stop when he feels the cool press of a gun against his temple. His eyes widen and his voice disappears. The only sounds in the room are their harsh breaths and the clock above the refrigerator.

_ Tick, tick, tick _ … counting down the seconds until his soul departs the earth.

Michael’s voice rumbles between them dropped low and murmuring like he’s imparting an important secret. “You’ve got some nerve, boy. Getting too big for your boots if you ask me, need a good beating to knock you down a peg or two. I’m in charge, remember. I’m in charge. You think you can talk to me like I’m some piece of trash and get away with it, huh? HUH?”

He means to listen to his father’s psychotic monologue, he really does, but something catches TJ’s eye.  In the corner of the kitchen, a baseball bat rests up against the side of the cabinets from where TJ left it after coming in from practice one afternoon. If he can just somehow get a hold of it, maybe he could…

Michael moves the gun down, sliding it across TJ’s cheek and notching it under his chin, so he’s forced to look at him. “You disgust me,” he spits into TJ’s face. “It’s like you’ve forgotten your place. Think you’re something special now, do ya? You’re not. You’re a worthless piece of shit. I worked hard all those years to put a roof over your head, food in your mouths-”

There’s that righteous indignation flaring up again. “Fuck off, did you! It was Mom who did most of the work, you just sat around drinking crappy beer and yelling about the good old days.”

The grip around his neck disappears but he has no time to be pleased about it before forceful hand strikes him across the face. His skin stings and his eye water, then the hand is back around his throat and tight than before. If his father doesn’t shoot him he might just choke him to death. 

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR I’LL DECORATE THE WALLS WITH YOUR BRAINS!” 

The press of the gun is back and TJ bites his tongue.

“A little creep like you never knows when to quit, huh? You think you’re so much better than me… as if you’re not an abomination. God knows you should never’ve been born, kid. You’re slime, nothing but a two-bit piece of garbage that likes to stick his dick where it don’t belong. You’re gonna learn your place. I’ll make sure of it.” Michael steps back, freeing him from his grasp, and raises the gun.

TJ’s going to die and he knows it. 

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. ” _

Those are the furious words which ring in his ears as he faces down the barrel of a gun. When being faced with the prospect of death he finds that he is less focused on the fact he is mere seconds away from being ready to be buried six feet under and more on the feeling of regret in which he is deeply entrenched in. 

They say in situations like this that your life flashes before your eyes. Not for him, it doesn’t. For him, it’s just one moment playing on a loop in his head.

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. ” _

_ “I wish I’d never met you at all. ” _

_ “I wish I’d never met you-” _

He just wishes he could apologise one last time, but he won’t get to.

_ ‘I love you, Cyrus,’  _ he thinks to himself, and that is his last thought before everything goes black. 

_ Once upon a time, there was a perfect nuclear family. The Kippens they were called, a swell family of three, and they were beloved by all. They had a perfect house, a perfect yard and a perfect life. They were the real American Dream... or so it seemed from the outside. Behind closed doors, the Kippens were nuclear alright. A nuclear disaster. Their home was a cold war, the constant threat of destruction lingered thick in the air and it wasn’t because of anything to do with politics. Michael Kippen was a bomb ready to go off at any moment and his explosions could never be avoided even if those around him were taking cover. The sad truth is, sometimes those explosions were big enough to kill.  _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a little shorter than usual which means either ten is going to be longer than usual or I might just have to add in another chapter, so just a heads up really.


	11. Ten

Storming away from the Kippen’s house should be easy, Cyrus thinks, right now he should be sprinting down the road so fast his legs burn and his breaths come in gasps. Instead, he’s got his arms wrapped around himself feeling as if he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces if he loosens his grip. He had gone from furious and biting to a hollow ball of self-pity in a matter of seconds - the second the front door slammed shut behind him the fight just drained right out of him.

It’s funny how exhaustion can hit on such an emotional level. The tiredness hits as he’s trudging along the street, head bowed, wishing with every step that he could turn back and apologise. Maybe he and TJ can sit down and talk it out - couples fight all the time. It’s normal, healthy even.

Even as he thinks it, he knows that wouldn’t work. TJ had been on the defensive from the second Cyrus laid eyes on him today. Whatever happened just now wasn’t healthy. Nothing normal about it. Despite the harshness of the words he’d thrown, Cyrus can’t pretend he didn’t mean them. They had been a spitfire mass of vitriolic contempt, over-emotional and fueled by hurt, but they had been true. As much as he hates it, he knows he has nothing to apologise for. Could he have been calmer about it? Yes. But in the face of that kind of criticism, staying calm would’ve earned him a gold medal. TJ had lied to him - had been outright cruel - and Cyrus had thrown his defences up too.

There’s a part of him which seeks to understand why TJ would lie even though he knows dwelling on it will do no good. He deserves better than to be treated with such cruelty, his friends would say the same, and he doesn’t exist to be a punching bag for a boy who can’t deal with his own emotions well enough not to take them out on the people around him. At the end of the day, in the face of TJ’s actions, Cyrus is forced to admit that he had been fooled. To TJ he had just been a source of amusement in a town that he didn’t want to be in. Cyrus, with his ironed-neat clothes and hesitance to break the rules, was something he resented and will probably continue to be so.

_ ‘He told me he loved me _ ,’ the miserable thought sticks in the back of his mind as he settles down on the curb around the corner. ‘ _ He told me he loved me but says it was a lie. How was I so easily tricked?’ _

A second thought hits him like a ton of bricks right out of nowhere. It shouts over the miserable pity-party, shoving the insecurity right out of his path, violently suggesting ‘ _ I did not deserve that.’ _

It startles him. Over the past few years, though he is unlikely to admit it to many, he has gotten used to sitting in a small pool of self-hatred that tells him he is not quite like those around him. That he’s not worth it, or that he’s somehow  _ less  _ than others, and it’s grated on him. As his teen years had come in he’d gone from a carefree chatty young man to a boy worried that everything he said would make him seem like a loser or people would laugh at him for it. The isolation that came from fear had an unmatched strength and left him floundering.

He frowns to himself, thinking about how TJ’s words had hurt because they’d hit him right where it hurt. They had packed an extra punch as a result of the last few months… the last few months during which he’d spent unwinding himself from the tangle of self-conscious fear. He hadn’t come all this way for it to come crashing down around him now. He does not deserve that. He deserves  _ better _ .

_ ‘There is a place in this world for me. I might not have found it yet, but I will. _ ’

It’s a long overdue epiphany, but it’s better late than never. He sniffs, straightens his spine, and wipes at his eyes with the cuff of his jacket. He doesn’t want to cry over this, doesn’t want to spend the next week worrying over it and wondering what he did wrong, not this time. He wants to do better for himself, be kinder to himself, love himself without the crutch of other people’s validation. He deserves better. Whatever TJ’s problem is… it’s not Cyrus’ fault. He has no control over someone else’s actions, thoughts, or feelings no matter how responsible that person tries to make him. If TJ has an issue with him, well then that’s his issue, and Cyrus is not going to go back begging to help fix it. It’s not about him. It never has been. And after that realisation, it’s like his head begins to clear.

He goes home, and the weight on his shoulders begins to lift. 

 

*******

 

Later, when Cyrus has already quick-stepped up to his room and rifled through his belongings, shoving everything he associates with TJ into a box that he pushes to the back of his closet, his friends invade the house. They pile in through the Goodman’s front door, Todd letting them by with a resigned look, and into the kitchen where Cyrus is picking at leftover meatloaf. He may have comes to terms with the fight rather fast, and he may have decided not to cry, but that doesn’t stop the melancholy sadness creeping in. It’s okay to mourn the loss of something important to him, he thinks, even if the ending was a downright catastrophe. How else is he supposed to move on if he can’t grieve for a little while?

He’s resolved to only let himself think about it in little increments. Missing the feeling of TJ’s arms wrapped around him, or the late night laughter in the backseat of his car, or the taste of shared milkshakes on an especially hot day. He resolutely does  _ not  _ think about the words they exchanged earlier. It’s too fresh, still hurts in a way he doesn’t want it to, and if he dwells he thinks he’ll break his promise not to cry. 

So yes, he might not be wallowing as much as he could be, but he’s wallowing a little and the others could spot it a mile away. It only takes one look at his face for Buffy to turn into a storm. Without even hearing Cyrus out first, and in that sweet slightly tactless way of hers, she flies into a furious rant about ‘unreliable boys’ and demands to know what TJ did to make Cyrus look like such a kicked puppy. It takes three simple words;

“We broke up.”

And no further explanation for Marty to sigh, slip out the door and return ten minutes later with an armful of ice cream from the late-night convenience store. Cyrus thinks maybe he’d be annoyed about their presence, wanting to be alone to lick his wounds in peace, but the way Buffy continues to go on about how Cyrus could do better and the comforting pat on his shoulder from Jonah just makes him feel  _ loved.  _ Like he has a place.

He thinks it’s possible that this has always been the case, and he’s just been blind to it, so vows to give that some more thought later. For now, he needs to focus on explaining things to his friends. They gather around, pulling up seats at the kitchen island and clanking their spoons against bowls, talking over one another in their haste to reassure Cyrus that everything is going to be okay.

Todd wanders into the living room to watch infomercials while Cyrus’ mom comes downstairs in her nightgown to find out what all the ruckus is. After taking in the sight of the teenagers packed into her kitchen, she seems to decide with a somewhat despairing sigh of resignation that she’s not going to be rid of them tonight, and for once instead of badgering them about calling their parents or going home she just lets them be. It catches them all off guard considering it’s starting to get late and it’s been dark a while now, but she just wanders in and out of the kitchen busying herself with random chores. Cyrus thinks maybe she’d taken in the look on his face in a similar way to Buffy and decided that he needs this, and usually she’d be prying but he’s grateful that she’s not this time.

The third time she wanders in he realises that she’s listening in on their conversation, gaining an understanding of the night’s events snippet by snippet. She’ll likely ask him about it later, the Goodman nosiness doesn’t hold off for long, though he can’t bring himself to be bothered about it. He’ll have to explain TJ’s sudden disappearance from his life eventually anyway. It’s better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

Not tonight though. He doesn’t want to explain the story all over again. Tonight he just wants to eat ice cream with his friends and let them distract him from his own low spirits. After a while, Buffy stops bitching about how TJ is an untrustworthy bully and lets Andi take over the conversation. She describes in detail Bex’s new art project which, by the sounds of it, is taking over the entire Mack household in the form of too much glitter and chalk dust. It tilts the world back into place a little more, Cyrus finds himself feeling like he always used to in the best way with his friends when they were younger and had less to worry about. Jonah kicks at his foot under the table and Marty makes them all laugh by snorting his drink out of his nose when Andi says something especially funny. It feels like how it’s meant to feel.

Much to his annoyance though, there is one small wrongness. One person missing. A seat empty even though all the seats are filled. Cyrus’ chest aches.

A couple of hours in, he thinks with a vain sort of hope that maybe they’ve forgotten about the whole thing and he won’t have to talk about it again, but he should know better than that. Jonah offhandedly mentions going to the lake again soon - something that TJ had been insisting on lately - and the group lapses into a heavy silence.

“I can’t believe he turned out to be such a dick,” Andi says, her amused energy fading fast. On her face, Cyrus sees his own feelings reflected. The confused draw of her brows, the tight purse of her lips, a bitter concern. “It’s just so weird. I got used to him being around, right?”

Jonah nods. “He felt like one of us. I don’t get why he- you deserved better than that, Cy.”

Cyrus shrugs at him, dipping his spoon into his melting ice cream in an aborted and half-hearted gesture. He isn’t that hungry and it’s turned to a dairy soup before him.

“I don’t get it either,” he says. “I thought we were getting along great. He… he told me he loved me, you know? It’s so out of the blue. I just wish I knew what set it all off.”

The others nod in grave agreement.

“Whatever,” Buffy says. “It’s whatever. You’ll be okay. You’re better off without that crap in your life anyway. He better not come around expecting you to take him back - you can do better.”

“Yeah, you’re way too good for that guy, Cy,” Marty agrees.

There’s a brief pause and then Jonah pipes up again, “He was going to make you another tape.”

They all look at him, Buffy shooting a warning glare and Cyrus’ curiosity peaking, and Jonah looks abashed like he doesn’t know what possessed him to voice that fact out loud. 

“I mean,” he stumbles over his words a little. “I mean… I don’t know why. Like he asked me for help and stuff. It’s just weird. Like, why’d he go to all that effort just to fuck with you or whatever? Who does that?”

“Psychos,” Buffy huffs. 

“What are you saying, J?” Cyrus asks.

He shrugs at him. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just confused as to why he would change tunes so quick. He seemed to actually like you, like… he apologised to Buffy-”

“Yeah, after  _ months. _ ”

“-but he still did it. And he made an effort to get to know us for you. He stopped getting in trouble so much… he joined the baseball team and stuff. It just seems like a lot of work for a cure to ‘boredom.’”

“Do you have a point somewhere here, Jo?” Andi asks, looking unimpressed. 

Jonah swallows. “Look, I’m not taking sides with TJ or anything, but maybe there’s something else going on? I know he’s been kind of an ass in the past, but out of everyone the only person he’s  _ never  _ been like that towards has been Cy. And suddenly that just changes? It’s weird. Seems like he was deliberately pushing you away or something.”

“But why?” Cyrus asks, quietly. The question seems to resonate around the room.

Buffy shifts, looking uncertain all of a sudden. “I don’t know… it seems like a bit of a reach. He was  _ so  _ mean to you, Cyrus.”

“I know… there’s. There’s no excuse for that,” Cyrus bites at his lip, considering. “But Jonah has a point. It came out of absolutely nowhere, and he’s never talked to me like that before, it’s  _ weird. _ Why tell me he loves me then break it off so soon?”

“Because he’s a dick!”

Their conversation is brought to a halt by Cyrus’ mother swooping back into the kitchen once more. They all look at her, mouths snapping shut, and she raises one eyebrow before reaching forward to grab some of the empty bowls in front of them and dumping them in the sink. 

“I don’t suppose you lot shall be going to bed any time soon, hm?” She asks as she turned on the tap and settles in to wash the dishes. Her tone is tinged with the sound of odd interest and Cyrus recognises the beginning of a parental interrogation when he hears it. Judging by the looks on everyone else’s faces, they do too.

“Not yet, mom,” Cyrus says. He wonders if there’s any way to avoid her prying, but the second she as the dish soap he knows it’s a lost cause. She’s hovering for the long haul - she’ll probably decide the spice rack needs rearranging next. 

“So what are you guys talking about?” She asks, going for casual and missing by miles. They all exchange exasperated looks and Cyrus tries not to roll his eyes. “Seems very serious for an ice cream night.”

There’s silence, then she turns to look at them, and Marty seems to break under pressure.

“Just talking about TJ,” he bursts out. “He’s being a dick.”

He yelps as Andi and Buffy kick him under the table and Cyrus sighs loudly.

“Oh? What happened? Is everything okay? Did he get into another fight?”

“It’s nothing, mom,” Cyrus reassures her. “Just… the usual kind of drama.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe him but turns back to the dishes and lets them clatter around, the only noise in the awkward quiet, before speaking again a few moments later.

“Speaking of TJ, Cyrus, I was just wondering why you didn’t say anything about his father being in town.”

Heads whip around to look at her. Cyrus feels himself go still and his fingers clench tight around his spoon. A strange sensation of pure cold falls over him, as if he’s been dropped into icy water. Dread.

“What did you just say?”

“You didn’t mention that Mr Kippen was in town,” his mom says, busying herself with scrubbing the bowls. “I bumped into Julia Morris from down the street earlier and she said that Moira Darnell had said to her that she met Laura’s husband in the mini-mart. Apparently, he’s come home for a visit - Julia said Moria said that he’s the spitting image of his son. Though I suppose that means TJ is the spitting image of him rather than the other way around. A pleasant man apparently, though I’m not sure how much you can trust Moira’s judgement… she’s an awful flirt. She likes to flirt with your father when he’s out and about, it’s a bit much if you ask me-”

“Mom, mom! Wait, a second!” Cyrus interrupts before she can really get going. “What do you mean he’s come home? The mini-mart  _ here?  _ In town?”

“Well, of course. Where else?”

“When was this?”

“Well, I don’t know-”

“Mom, did Moira say-”

“-it was Julia who told me-”

“-Whatever! Did she say when Mrs Darnell saw him?”

“Earlier this evening… after book club.” She puts her hands on her hips and fixes them all with an unimpressed look. “You’re being awfully rude, dear. Now, what’s this all about?”

Cyrus and the others look at one another. He’s not alone in the sudden tension. Their faces reflect just what he’s thinking; it seems like a betrayal to impart the knowledge they have of TJ’s past with his father upon somebody else, especially an adult, without consulting him about it first. But TJ isn’t here. TJ walked out of his life with cruel words and careless actions not six hours ago.

And Cyrus has spent every minute of those hours wondering  _ why _ . It didn’t make sense - it was too out of the blue.

He thinks it’s starting to make sense right about now. It looks like Jonah may have been right after all. 

“Mrs Goodman,” Jonah asks as politely as he can. “Would it be possible for me to use your phone? I think I need to call my dad.”

“It’s a little late for that isn’t it?”

“Mom,” Cyrus butts in again. “TJ’s dad… he’s  _ not  _ a pleasant man. If he’s back…”

He doesn’t quite know how to voice it but she seems to get the gist. Her eyes widen and she nods silently, gesturing to the hallway where the phone lives.

 

*******

 

It doesn’t take long for Jonah to call his father and let him know what’s going on, but it feels like forever. Cyrus pushes his seat away from the table and starts pacing, thoughts racing through his mind at one hundred miles an hour. Technically, they don’t  _ know  _ that anything’s wrong, which is what his mother points out to him. He thinks she means to calm him down but it irks him more than anything.

He shakes his head at her. “With the way TJ was acting earlier, I’m willing to bet it has something to do with his dad. It was  _ bad,  _ mom. I’ve never seen him get like that before. I- I should have known something was up-”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Buffy says. “You’re mom’s right, we don’t know that anything’s happened yet, and if it has it’s not your fault. How were you meant to know why he was acting like that? He was awful to you, you reacted as anybody would.”

Cyrus doesn’t voice it out loud but he has the sneaking suspicion that he reacted the exact way TJ wanted him to react. He thinks about the way the mere mention of Mr Kippen could bring a haunted look into TJ’s eyes, the flinches at sudden movements, and the all the fears he had voiced about becoming like his father. He thinks about the jagged scar across TJ’s chest that will never go away, and the scars beneath the skin that might not be visible but are just as present. The whole time he’s known him, TJ has been trying to protect himself from his own past. Now the past is coming back for him.

“He was protecting me,” Cyrus says, quietly.

Everyone looks at him.

“What? Andi asks.

He swallows. “TJ. He was protecting me. The breakup… it wasn’t out of the blue. He didn’t just get bored of me. He was trying to protect me. He knew his dad was back. He didn’t want me getting hurt.”

“Cyrus…” Buffy says, her voice a little pleading, and he knows what she’s about to say. He lifts a hand to stop her.

“Don’t tell me not to get my hopes up. I know him. I know him and I’m telling you I’m right about this… if I’m wrong you can kick my ass over it later, but I don’t think I am.”

If Mr Kippen had such a problem with TJ’s general existence, of the life of his own son, enough to harm him then he would absolutely  _ loathe  _ everything about Cyrus.

“What makes you so sure?” Andi asks.

Cyrus takes a deep breath. “If his dad knew about us… if he found out somehow. I mean, you’ve seen what he did to TJ, there’s a reason he was in jail, I figure it probably wouldn’t end well for any of us. TJ’s been running away from him since he was a kid - if he had just told me I would’ve said we could work it out together. If he’d have run-”

“You would have gone after him,” Andi finishes for him. “So he convinced you to leave instead.”

“So I wouldn’t want to go after him.”

She sighs. “That idiot.”

Cyrus’ mom looks at them and shakes her head. “I don’t miss being your age,” she says. “Teenage logic is its own special brand of insanity.”

A small, slightly hysterical, laugh slips out of Cyrus' lips and Andi stands up. She takes him by the shoulders and forces him to stop pacing. Looking him straight in the eye with a stern voice she says, “It’s going to be okay, Cyrus. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Jonah steps back into the kitchen. For a moment, the crease of his brow makes him look like a mirror image of the chief. He folds his arms.

“Dad’s on his way over,” he says. “There’s not a lot we can do right now because… well, there’s been no official complaint or whatever. We don’t even know for sure if Mr Kippen’s still in the area. He said he’s gotta make some calls then he’ll be here. He wants to check up on TJ and his mom to see if everything’s okay.”

“We need to go over there!” Cyrus insists. “What if he already showed up? They might need help!”

His mom puts her foot down. One hand on her hip she points a finger at him and with a stern expression says, “Don’t you dare! This is not a game, Cyrus. This man has a history of  _ violence _ . Chief Beck is clearly handling it, so you’re just going to leave it to the officers. Now what you kids are going to do is you’re going to go upstairs and go to bed. Everything’s going to be fine. Let us handle it.”

He scowls at her and opens his mouth to complain but she shuts him down immediately. “Upstairs! All of you.”

And they trudge up to Cyrus’ room with matching sighs.

 

*******

 

It takes half an hour. In Cyrus’ bedroom, the group of them wait in tense anticipation. Marty situates himself at the window so he can let them all know when the chief arrives. Andi gnaws on her fingernails looking worried and the stress even seems to be unsettling Buffy’s usual level-headedness. Jonah and Cyrus sit on the bed, and after a few minutes Cyrus heads over to his closet and digs out the box he’d shoved back there only a little while earlier. He pulls out the tape that TJ had made him and lets his fingers drift over the scrawled tracklist. The idiot. Why couldn’t he have just told him?

Marty seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Why did he tell us?” He asks, jerking them all out of their thoughtful silence. “We could’ve done something, maybe we could’ve helped. We could’ve told the chief…”

“He’s not good at asking for help,” Cyrus sighs.

From where he’s sprawled across the bed Jonah makes a noise of contemplation. “I reckon he thought he was doing us a favour by not getting us involved.”

“I’m gonna kick his ass when we see him,” Buffy says, but there’s no rage behind it. “He should be here right now.”

She’s right. He should be here with them, crashed out for a sleepover or out in the fields catching fireflies. But he’s not. Because it’s TJ. And TJ has never really grasped the concept of people being there for him. 

“I wish they’d just let us go over there,” Marty sighs, then sits up straighter as he spots something out on the street. “Beck’s here!”

In a flash, they’re all racing as quietly as they can to the stairs. They settle themselves just out of sight, but where they can hear what’s going on in the hall. 

Chief Beck shows up at the door a minute later, and Todd opens it to let him in. Peering through the bannisters Cyrus can just about see what’s going on. The grave look on Beck’s face does little to tamper down his fear.

“I made a call to the County Sheriff’s office,” Beck says to Cyrus’ parents. “They confirmed it. Michael Kippen. Sentenced to five years in prison for assault with a deadly weapon and domestic abuse charges. He was released last month on good behaviour. Broke parole a few days ago. They’ve been looking for him.”

Cyrus and the others all look at one another in alarm. Cyrus’ mom lifts a shocked hand to her mouth and Todd grimaces. 

“I think we’ve about done their job for them then,” he says.

Chief Beck nods and hooks his thumbs in his belt. His voice is heavy with authority but even from where he’s sat Cyrus can see the concern in his eyes. “Listen, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going to send a couple of my guys over there to check on things, see if he’s shown up at the house at all. If he has I don’t want to escalate the situation. We can’t risk putting Laura and TJ in any more danger than they already are. You hear that, kids?”

He raises his voice suddenly and they all jump. 

“Yeah, that’s right. I know you’re all listening. Come on down here now.”

Matching guilty expressions cross Cyrus and the others’ faces as they troop down the stairs to meet the chief. He raises an eyebrow at them - it’s not a look of disappointment, per se, but rather a tired one. It’s like he knows what they’re all thinking. Beside Cyrus, Jonah bows his head and shifts anxiously. 

“Listen, guys. I know it’s scary having your friend out there be in trouble, but I don’t want any of you getting involved. You hear me? This man is dangerous and I don’t want any of you anywhere near him.” 

The stare back at him.

He sighs. “Do you understand me?”

“Yessir,” they mumble back.

An unusually insolent part of him makes Cyrus want to stamp his foot and demand that they let him go and see TJ right now, but he knows it’s no good. It will just end in an argument with his mother and disappointed noises from the chief. Todd might be a little more sympathetic to his cause, but he’s never had the reigns of the household and has no authority over what Cyrus is or isn’t allowed to do. He sighs to himself.

“I’ll put on some tea,” his mom says, wringing her hands. “We can sit together and wait to see what they say.”

They begin to move towards the kitchen but freeze when a strange buzzing sounds. The radio in Chief Beck’s belt crackles to life.

_ “Chief we have a report from Miss Maisel on Wickers Street…” _ Cyrus can feel the colour draining from his face as he takes it in.  _ “...says there’s a disturbance at Number Twelve - says there was a whole lotta yelling and it sounds bad.” _

The tension in the room increases tenfold. Cyrus feels like his whole body has come alive with electricity, heart beginning to pound harder and faster, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The chief makes eye contact with him as he pulls the radio from his belt and responds.

Cyrus doesn’t completely hear what he says over the blood thumping in his ears, something about going over there and requesting backup, and he tries to focus on his breathing. 

“You kids stay here,” Beck warns, and he’s out the door in a flash.

“Tea!” His mom says, so sudden that it startles everyone, and hurries into the kitchen. Todd glances at the front door then gives the kids a knowing look and a nod and follows after his wife. They are out of sight for all of two seconds before Cyrus and the others are bolting out the front door too.

 

*******

 

They get to the house moments before the officers do. Chief Beck lingers on the edge of the property waiting for his colleagues and doesn’t see the teenagers as they sneak around the edge. Buffy grabs Cyrus and Jonah’s arms, tugging them down to crouch behind a bush not far from TJ’s bedroom window, and they watch the scene unfold before them. The lights of the house are blazing, but Cyrus can’t hear any movement even just a few feet away from a wall.

His heart pounds in his chest like a bomb waiting to go off. He’s not sure when he started trembling, but it feels like all muscle control has left him and been replaced with quivering fear. All he can think about is how TJ is stuck inside that house right now with a man who has almost killed him in the past. Could be killing him right now. TJ could be dead.

It’s the worst thought that’s ever hit Cyrus and it feels like a knife in his chest being twisted. The commotion Miss Maisel had reported is no longer audible, the inside of the house seems deadly silent from where they lurk in the shadows, and that only makes him worry at his lip more. Why is it so quiet? What’s happened? Where are TJ and his mom? Is Mr Kippen still in there? Are any of them still in there?

_ 'Is anyone in there still breathing?' _

Three police cars pull up and the officers climb out, all with matching grim expressions on their faces. It’s a small relief, too small, and does nothing to lift the blanket of terror that’s fallen across them all in the past hour. They watch as the officers have a brief discussion, and Chief Beck approaches the front door of Number Twelve accompanied by two others.

He raps on the door, hard, and waits. Cyrus wishes he didn’t look so worried. Grownups are the ones who are meant to keep it together. Reassurance is nonpresent here.

It seems like an eternity until footsteps sound across the hall floor and a gruff voice sounds through the door. It isn’t opened.

“Who’s there?!” Barks Mr Kippen.

The officers exchange troubled looks and Beck leans forward towards the door.

“My name is Jonathon Beck, Chief of Shadyside’s police department. We got a call from the neighbours about a disturbance.”

“No disturbance here, officers. We’re all good here.”

More troubled looks. Cyrus inches towards TJ’s window a little. 

“It’s Michael, isn’t it?” Beck calls again through the door. “Laura’s ex-husband?”

Michael’s tone takes on an irritated edge that makes them all flinch. “We’re still married!”

“Yes, well… May I speak to Laura please, Mr Kippen?” The chief sounds strained like he’s physically willing himself not to bust down the door in that second.

“She’s in the shower right now.”

“What about TJ? Your son, TJ?”

“He’s in bed. It’s late.”

That seems unlikely somehow. TJ is a night owl, he’d still be up at this time, and the curtains in his bedroom are still wide open. Cyrus isn’t sure what possesses him to do it but in a couple of quick steps, he’s up and away, sliding carefully in through TJ’s bedroom much to the dismayed hisses of his friends. He waves them off, signalling them to stay put, then looks around. The sight of the empty room confirms his suspicions - TJ isn’t here.

The door is ajar, letting light from the main hall seep into the room, but the bed is cold and unmade. Why would he lie? Why would Mr Kippen lie? If TJ was in the living room with him surely he could’ve come out to assure the Chief that everything was okay. If he was out… well, Mr Kippen could’ve just said so. It’s not  like it’s unusual for teenagers to stay out late in the summer.

Cyrus creeps towards the door and pokes his head around. Mr Kippen is stood with his back to him, leaning against the front door and talking through it to the chief. It takes less than a second for Cyrus to clock the gun dangling from the man’s hand and fear shoots through him like a poison. The house is dead silent aside from Mr Kippen’s grumblings, maybe he’s already… no. No. The neighbours would’ve reported gunshots, surely? In fact, Cyrus is pretty sure they would’ve heard them from his house. He uses this reasoning to calm himself as he creeps forward. He’s all too aware that what he’s doing is stupid. Stupid and dangerous and more than a little unfair to the people he’s left outside, but all he can think about it the worrying silence. Where are TJ and his mom? 

His stomach drops when he rounds the corner to the kitchen. There’s that question answered.

The kitchen is a mess, looking like a whirlwind blew right through. Laura lies slumped at the foot of the wall and it’s only due to the fact he can see the steady rise and fall of her chest that stops Cyrus from immediately panicking. It’s the sight that he sees next which makes him want to vomit. Knives are scattered around the floor, knocked from their place atop the cabinets, and across the wooden doors above them is a spattering of blood.

He can see TJ’s feet sticking out from behind the overturned table.

Cyrus thinks his own lungs mist have stopped working. 

Beck’s voice is muffled through the door, and he’s dimly aware that Michael could turn at any moment and see him, then he’d ben in trouble. “Mr Kippen, I’m going to have to ask you to step out here properly for a moment-”

“Is that really necessary, officers? I’m just-”

“I’d just like to speak to Laura. I got a call asking to check in on her, so if you would just let me inside to see that everything’s okay-”

“Listen, you want to come inside you go get a warrant! ‘Til then, leave us well enough al-” Cyrus tunes it out as he creeps closer to where TJ is sprawled. 

When he finally rounds the table, the relief that hits him is immediate and overpowering. TJ is  _ alive _ . He’s alive, he’s breathing, and looks to have a broken nose which is probably the source of the blood. His father must’ve hit him really hard for that to happen. As Cyrus gets closer his can see his eyelids fluttering, like he’s just this side of consciousness. Staying crouched low he reaches forward and with gentle fingers he turns TJ’s face towards him to check the damage. His mind is racing. He has no idea how he’s going to get Laura and TJ out of here without Michael seeing. He didn’t think this through.

At his touch, TJ’s eyes open a little more, and he breathes in a sudden and loud ragged breath that makes Cyrus go still.

Michael doesn’t hear it. He’s still arguing with the chief at the door. 

Cyrus relaxes his breath and very faintly shushes TJ. He leans forward and presses a kiss to his forward, breathing into his ear and whispering so quietly he’s not even sure TJ will be able to hear him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here. I’m here, I’m going to get you out.”

He thinks maybe if he can get his arms under TJ’s knees and shoulders he might be able to lift and carry him out, but he’s almost certain Michael would notice that happening. All he can think about is how they have to get out of here. Maybe if he can slip out again and tell the chief what he’s seen then they’ll  _ have  _ to break the door down. But the idea of leaving TJ in this state makes him want to cry. He’s stuck. 

_ ‘Please, Lord. Tell me what to do. What do I do?’ _

There’s a sound then, a quiet whimpering from the depths of the house, that cuts off whatever Michael is spitting at Beck. It grows louder and louder until Cyrus realises it’s coming from behind him.

Laura. 

His eyes dart to her. She’s awake, looking right at him, tears streaming down her face with one hand reached out towards him. 

_ 'She’s trying to tell me to run.' _

Michael turns.

Cyrus feels his own heart stop. It’s as if the world turns to slow motion as their eyes connect from across the front room. It seems to take Michael a moment to register his presence, and then it’s as if everything around them explodes. Michael lets out a roar of anger and runs right at him. Cyrus stumbles back, crashing into the cabinets as he tries to push away, and he screams out to the chief as he goes. 

Alarmed banging on the front door sounds, Michael shoves the table out of the way to get to him, and then he has his hand clutched around the front of Cyrus’ shirt pulling him up into the air like a ragdoll. Cyrus kicks out at him as hard as he can but it’s useless. Michael’s grip won’t budge. He’s yelling, spitting right into Cyrus’ face, but the fear is so overwhelming he can’t take any of it in.

He’s going to die. Oh God, he’s going to die. He screws his eyes closed tight.

_ 'Please let TJ get out okay.' _

**CRACK.**

There’s a sickening crunch and the grip on his front loosens, Cyrus is left to stumble back on to steady feet and his eyes fly open. Michael’s face goes strangely slack in front of him and he lurches once, twice, then collapses to the floor. 

Cyrus stares in disbelief. 

TJ stands there, swaying a little in his place, clutching his baseball bat in a white-knuckle grip. His eyes are unfocused and his breaths are coming in harsh uneven puffs. He stares down at where his father lies crumpled in a heap at his feet. 

Blood seeps out from underneath Michael’s head.

TJ raises his head a little, makes eye contact with Cyrus briefly, then staggers backwards and falls down himself. Cyrus feels frozen in place. 

And the world loses focus as the door comes breaking open. He watches, unhearing and with an open mouth as the officers swarm into the room. He doesn’t hear what they say to him. He doesn’t hear what anyone says.

All he can focus on is the blood.

 

*******

 

_ Cyrus came for him. He came for him even after everything TJ put him through. _

_ Through his bleary vision, TJ can see his father lunge at Cyrus. He dimly registers himself moving without thinking about it, struggling to his feet while Michael is distracted. He thinks about all the times in his life when people have told him he's not good enough. He thinks about the way it all cracked at his heart like a pickaxe. They tore him down, chewed him up and spat him out with opinions made on superficial glances and a moment's notice. _ __  
__  
_ He’s had enough. He won't let their words destroy him any more. He IS good enough. He knows he's good enough. If they refuse to believe in him, then he'll just have to do it himself. He won't run away anymore. _ __  
_  
_ __ He grabs the bat.

 

*******

 

The hospital is a nightmare of sterile white walls, worrying families and rushing doctors. Cyrus rebuffs any attempts by the adults around him to make him go home; he’s not leaving until he’s spoken to TJ and made sure everything really is okay. Laura is still getting checked over, so she can’t be with him right now, and Cyrus will be damned if he lets TJ wake up alone. 

Consequently, he has spent the past several hours curled up on an uncomfortable visitor’s chair next to TJ’s bed. The sun has been up a long time and he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have been allowed to stay in the room when it wasn’t visiting hours, but the look of Chief Beck’s face whenever he pops in to check up on things suggests he might have something to do with Cyrus still being there. 

TJ looks peaceful in his sleep, almost soft if you ignore the state of his nose, the cut on his cheek from where Michael had pistol-whipped him and the necklace of mottled bruising around his throat. Now Michael’s been dealt with, maybe he’ll be able to look peaceful when awake too. It’s a nice thought and Cyrus smiles to himself over it. He’s been drifting in an out of consciousness for a while now himself, unwilling to let himself fall asleep completely in case he’s needed, but still thoroughly exhausted. The process of Michael’s arrest, giving his witness statement, and getting to the hospital had been an exercise in patience he hopes he never has to repeat - it’s taken everything out of him. 

“Cyrus?” A soft voice follows the opening of the door and he looks up to see Laura slipping into the room. She had had to get checked out herself earlier, but aside from a bruised up face, she appears to be alright (at least on a physical level). She’s lucky she isn’t concussed or worse - from listening in on the grownups’ conversations he now knows that Michael pistol-whipped her.

She got off lightly compared to her son.

Cyrus sits up straight and gives her a wobbly smile. “Hi.”

She slips into the seat next to him and offers him something - a muffin wrapped in a napkin from the cafeteria. She has that look on her face that his own mother gets when she’s hovering at her best. “You need to eat.”

“Thanks,” He replies quietly and takes it with a grateful nod.

They sit in silence for a little while, basking in the white glow of the room and the gentle beeping of the machines monitoring TJ. Cyrus’ heart clenches every time he looks at him. 

“He loves you, you know,” Laura says suddenly. 

He frowns at her. “What?"

She nods at TJ. “He loves you. He doesn’t tell me much about his life, and I suppose that’s my own fault for not listening, but he’s mentioned you. You make him happy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not used to seeing him happy,” she smiles into the coffee cup in her hands. “It’s a nice change. You know when I moved him out here I thought… well, I  _ hoped  _ that he might find some people that were actually good for him. And along came you. I spoke to the chief and I think I owe you a thank you, Cyrus.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were there for him,” she says. “When I couldn’t be. You showed up.”

“It’s what anyone would do.”

She shakes her head. “No, most people wouldn’t be crazy enough to walk into the path of a violent criminal to check on a friend. Don’t ever do that again, by the way. As admirable as it was, it was terribly stupid too.”

He gives her a rueful smile. “I know. Mom grounded me for it.”

“Rightly so,” she nods, but her mouth twitches up into a smile again. “You’re a good kid. I’m glad TJ has you.”

There’s a niggling worry in the back of Cyrus’ mind that wonders if he still has TJ, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he says, “I’m glad to have him too.” And lets her give him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

He really needs TJ to wake up already.

 

*******

 

Bit by groggy bit, TJ is pulled from his dreams by a stream of bright golden light falling across his face. The world around him is built out of blurry images and low murmurs, a gentle beeping sound floating through the air beside him, and a chemical smell he can’t identify. It takes a confused minute for him to work out that it’s the sun shining in through the window that’s woken him, and when he registers that it’s not his bedroom window he sits up with a jolt.

The beeping intensifies, murmurs rise into louder concerned noises and then there are hands on his shoulders pressing him back. He panics, flailing as the room comes into focus, and for one dreadful moment, he thinks his father has a hold of him.

“Whoa! Whoa, TJ! It’s me, calm down-” Chief Beck’s familiar face swims before him for a brief moment before settling. He stops moving, heart pounding and breaths coming in gasps. Someone further away says something about not touching and Beck removes his hands with care while TJ tries to get ahold of himself. His pulse feels like its pounding in his ears.

A hospital. He’s sat in bed, in a hospital, with Chief Beck stood before him all crossed arms and furrowed brows as usual. He doesn’t look disappointed today, though, more worried. And beside him hovers a kind looking nurse. She says something, but TJ doesn’t take it in.

The events at the house come rushing back in one furious crashing wave and his heart rate rises all over again. He grabs the front of Beck’s shirt, pulling him closer with desperate eyes. His voice rasps painfully as he croaks out-

“M-my mom,  _ Cyrus,  _ they’re-” It comes out sounding like he has a cold, and he’s dimly aware of a throbbing pain in his nose.

“They’re okay,” Beck says as soft as he can, uncurling TJ’s fingers from his shirt with gentle ease. “Everyone’s okay. Your mom’s here too, she’s just getting coffee. Someone’s gone to grab her. And Cyrus is…” He nods to the side.

In the chair beside his bed, Cyrus is slumped in a ball with his eyes closed and mouth a little open. His even breathing comes with the pace of someone in a deep sleep, and the tight ball of in TJ’s chest starts to disapparate. 

The next few minutes are filled with the nurse swooping in to ask him different questions and fiddle with the machines around him. TJ steadfastly doesn’t look at them - hospitals freak him out. The inside of his head burns with unanswered questions and his eyes dart between Beck and Cyrus’ chair, but he remains reluctant to ask anything out oud in the presence of the nurse.

When she finally leaves he tries to withhold a visible sigh of relief, but from the amused look on the chief’s face he doesn’t quite manage. 

“What happened?” He asks, wincing at the soreness of his throat. 

An image flashes through his mind, a memory of the chokehold his father held him in, and he wonders how bad the bruising is. If he turns his head too hard it gives an unpleasant ache, but all he can think is that he’s grateful he can turn his head at all.

“Well,” Beck starts, then frowns and clears his throat. He shifts a bit, looping his thumbs in his belt buckle as if he’s preparing to debrief a room full of soldiers on a mission. Once upon a time, TJ would have thought that was him trying to be intimidating, but now he knows it’s the chief’s way of hiding his own emotions. It’s a strange thing to be able to identify, TJ thinks, at least in relation to himself. The idea of anyone being worried about him, let alone a police officer, would’ve been laughable just a few months ago.

“Well,” Beck starts again. “You brained your father with a baseball bat, son.”

Yes. TJ remembers that part quite well. His father’s looming figure, the overwhelming before on behalf of Cyrus that filled him, the instinctive lift and swing of the bat. A sick feeling of satisfaction is the last thing he can recall before everything went dark. Something gnaws at him, something dark and awful, as he thinks it over.

He picks at the blanket over his knees. “Is he- I mean, he’s not… he’s not dead, is he?”

Beck shakes his head and TJ slumps back, somehow both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“He’s not dead, just concussed, but he’s also never going to be able to touch you again. We’re making sure of that, so don’t you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” He lies, only to receive a raised eyebrow in response. “How did you know to come looking?”

“That’s all thanks to this one,” So as not to awaken Cyrus, the pat Beck gives the back of his chair is barely there. “Your friends called me as soon as they heard your father was in town. It’s a good thing that the Goodmans talk to everybody, really.”

“Friends?”

Beck rolls his eyes and says drily, “Yeah, you know those kids you spent all summer playing baseball and going out to the lake with?”

Friends. They came for him. They knew he was in trouble and they came for him, even though he’d been…

He bows his head, shame flooding in quick and fast. He hurt Cyrus, yelled at him and lied and  _ hurt  _ him, all to protect him and even then it hadn’t worked. He’d still put him in danger. Michael had still gotten to him.

“That’s an awful glum look, wanna talk about it?”

A pause. He thinks over the offer. His instincts are screaming at him to reject it, to curl back in on himself and retreat, but he’s starting to think his instincts might not always been entirely in the right. He sighs. 

“I don’t get why they helped me,” he admits, miserably. “I was- I had a fight with Cyrus-”

Beck nods. “Yeah, Jonah mentioned it.”

“He did? What did he say?”

“That you never showed up to the rink like you guys’d planned, something about yelling at Cyrus, breaking up…”

“They should hate me. I was… I was a dick.”

A shrug. “Everyone’s a dick sometimes, kid. Fights happen. You get mad and you say the wrong thing and you fuck up. It’s not the end of the world, it’s something you can fix with time and effort. Besides, I think in this case it actually helped you out a little.”

“What do you mean?”

Beck took a deep breath. “When I spoke to the boys about it earlier, Cyrus said your fight is what raised the alarm with him. Said it was totally out of the blue, so when his mom mentioned hearing your dad was in town he figured you’d done what you felt you had to do to protect yourself. And him. Now, I don’t know if that’s the case, but,” he shrugs again. “I think you should talk to Cyrus about it when he wakes up.”

Cyrus shifts in his sleep, an unintelligible mumble falling from his lips, before settling again. The two of them look at him, and the fond look on Beck’s face makes him ache. Cyrus has so many people that love him, so many people who want to protect and support him, and somehow Cyrus had still chosen  _ him _ .

He had walked into a house of nightmares, right into the warpath of a violent man, and all for a boy that had told him to get lost just hours before. He didn’t have to do that. He did it because he  _ cared. _

“I’m no good for him,” the words slip out before TJ can stop them. 

“On the contrary,” Beck says, raising his eyebrow at him once again. “I think you’re very good for him.”

“I almost got him killed. I always fuck everything up, I tried to protect him and I couldn’t even do that.”

Beck shakes his head. “Maybe you should consider coming out of your hole of self-pity for a few minutes and give it some real thought. ‘Cause, son, I think you’ve got it all backwards. But again, I think that’s something you need to discuss with Cyrus. Now hush up and get some more sleep. We gotta take your statement later when you can talk properly and you’re not half out of it. Go on now.”  
  


*******

 

“You came,” TJ’s voice cracks a little and Cyrus looks alarmed to realise he’s trying not to cry. It must be a pretty foreign expression on TJ’s face, and he’s grateful when Cyrus leans forward to take his hand. He squeezes it and breathes more steadily when he feels Cyrus squeeze back.

“Of course I came,” Cyrus says, expression pinched. “You  _ asshole _ . Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

TJ almost smiles, but then the memories of the night before return all over again and he sighs. He pulls his hand from Cyrus’ grip and tries not to flinch at the hurt look on his face. This is going to be a difficult conversation for both of them, he thinks. He doesn’t know if Cyrus is still angry. “I thought you hated me,” he admits.

Cyrus shakes his head. “I could never.”

“I was such an asshole to you. I can’t believe you’re here right now… I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again.”

There’s a pause where Cyrus seems to contemplate this.

“Yeah. You were an asshole,” TJ does flinch at that, the bluntness in Cyrus’ tone is more factual than cruel but it still stings. TJ’s never been much good at facing up to the consequences of his own actions, but he thinks he owes it to Cyrus and his mom to try this time.

“-but everyone makes mistakes.”

How is he so lucky to have met a boy like this?

“I owe you an explanation,” TJ says. “And an apology.”

Cyrus nods, leaning back in his seat and giving him a look that tells him he’s listening. It’s not judgemental, it’s not unkind, it’s just pure unadulterated patience.

TJ takes a deep breath. “When I found out my dad was back… I just panicked. I thought- it’s stupid now I think about it properly, but I thought if I could make you hate me maybe you wouldn’t be able to get hurt. He wouldn’t be able to touch you, ‘cause you wouldn’t be here.”

“You should’ve just talked to me about it.”

“I know that now,” he hangs his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, and I can’t promise I won’t ever mess up again, but I promise to try not to. I will definitely never talk to you like that again, I swear on that, but… yeah. I’m sorry. If you’ll still have me… you need to know. You need to know that I wake up and it’s you that I think of. I think of something funny and it’s your laughter I imagine coming after it. I see something beautiful and I picture your smile. It’s you. It’s always been you. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be better to push you away, but I’m an idiot. I’ll do better, Cyrus. I promise I’ll do better. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I love you  _ so much. _ ”

He’s cut off by Cyrus lurching forward and kissing him as carefully as he can. Something unravels in TJ’s chest and when they pull apart he’s embarrassed to realise that his cheeks are wet with tears. Cyrus clambers onto the bed with him, pulling him into his arms and letting him press his face into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice muffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you, TJ, it’s okay.” Cyrus runs a soothing hand through his hair and rocks him gently. TJ stops trying to hold back the sobs, and months of tension are released as he lets go. It’s been a long time since he cried, even longer since he’d been around anyone he felt comfortable with seeing him cry, but right now it feels like freedom. He doesn’t know how long they sit like they, wrapped around each other, but after a while, he becomes aware that Cyrus is crying too. He’s not alone anymore. Maybe he never was.

When they both finally collect themselves enough for the tears to subside, TJ tilts his head up and presses a soft kiss to the underside of Cyrus’ jaw.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks.

“Anything.”

"I think while I was falling in love with you I was finally falling in love with myself."

“I feel the same way,” Cyrus smiles. “Even if you are an idiot-”

TJ chokes out a small laugh at that. 

“-you’re an idiot who made my life better. I don’t know who I’d be without you now. You showed me how to be happy.”

They talk a little longer, TJ groaning when Cyrus tells him how they’re friends have been threatening to kill him themselves for scaring them like that, and eventually, they both slip back into sleep once more wrapped up in each other's arms. TJ’s last thought as his eyes close is;

_ ‘I am finally free.’ _

And he is.

 

***

 

In America's West sits a small town named Shadyside. It is exactly the sort of place you would imagine a town named Shadyside to be like. A forty-minute drive from the nearest city, it is made up of a maze of neatly gridded streets, white picket fences and tidy front yards which are tended to by PTA parents and nosy neighbours. It's the kind of place where the rumour mill is the only real form of entertainment and any sort of deviancy is frowned upon. 

Shadyside  _ was _ TJ's idea of hell, but in the summer of 1986 he found that somehow, without him noticing, Shadyside had become his home. And he couldn’t be happier about it if he tried.

  
  
  



	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue: September, 2016.**

 

The sun sits high in the sky above the university, gracing the fading green of the grass and trees with the last dregs of summer warmth, and perhaps it is due to the longing looks of students’ who gaze out of the windows that make the professor wrap up early. After all, he too wants to enjoy what’s left of the sunshine before fall settles into place.

It’s the beginning of the school year, that time when younger students still have the bright look in their eyes and are ready to learn, the bustle of bags being stuffed with laptops and water bottles is a little less hasty than it will become as they get to the point where they’d rather be in bed than in class. It makes the professor smile. They meander out the door in slow clusters, some even stopping to tell him they enjoyed the class before disappearing out into the courtyard, and a few linger by the door. 

They stand in a small group, heads bent together in a swift debate, and make him nervous by darting considering looks towards him where he collects the papers from his desks. It’s been a long time since any of his students made him nervous, but he’s always been a little bashful about certain things and he thinks he knows which certain thing they are discussing right now. He does not flee, in case he’s misread their behaviour and one of them really has a serious question about the class but steels himself instead. Finally, their whispering seems to reach a conclusion and the five of them straighten. One boy, a young man who likes to sit near the front and has an eagerness for answering questions that the professor delights in, takes a deep breath and walks over. The rest of the group watch him go with anticipation. In his hands, he clutches a wide book.

Certain things, the professor sighs inwardly. This is a certain thing. 

“Uh, professor?” the kid asks. Eric, he thinks his name is, Eric Duval. A good student. Polite, composed, with a clear passion for literature that makes him think this kid has probably already decided on his major. His favourite kind of person to teach.

“Yes?” 

The book in his hand is glossy and covered in an array of familiar vibrant colours - it’s a graphic novel. A bestseller at the time it was published, almost a decade ago, and it still makes the professor’s heart twinge with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Eric lifts it so he can see it properly.

_ ‘The Hauntings of 1986’  _ reads the scrawled title.

“Oh, that old thing,” he sighs.

Eric smiles a little ruefully. “I just wanted to say… thank you, for this. I guess.”

“Oh?”

“It… me and the guys,” he jerks a thumb back to point at his friends and their eyes widen. “We’ve all read it and it’s just… it’s really amazing. It helped me deal with a lot of hard times - taught me I’m not alone and all that jazz. So. We just wanted to let you know that… yeah. Would you mind signing it for me?”

The book is a source of pride. He thinks about it as he walks home, lost in a stream of hazy summertime memories as he winds his way past hurrying businessmen and puddles brought by the rain that had fallen the night before. It’s been a long time, he doesn’t think of those days very often anymore which he’s surprised to realise is not a result of deliberate repression but of his head being filled with things more important. He’s still thinking about it as he unlocks the front door of the ageing brownstone house he calls home.

From the kitchen down the hall, the familiar crooning voice of Cyndi Lauper floats to meet him. He smiles to himself and shakes his head as he hangs his coat on its hook and slips off his shoes. They’ve been at the record boxes again - he can’t fathom the fascination that the kids have with going through his old things, they’re not all that interesting but finds he doesn’t mind it in the slightest. It’s nice to see things that once brought him so much joy bring them the same thing.

The sound of his keys in the front door must have summoned them because there are suddenly two other people in the hall, babbling at him as he places his bag down.

Lacey looks up at him in all her nine-year-old excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet, mouth going like a motor. Behind her hovers, one of her brothers - Jack - clearly trying not to laugh. He’s been in the general monosyllabic phase that comes with early teenagerdom but seems to put that aside when his sister is about which is a relief. 

“-and then dad said we could look in the attic as long as we were careful and Billy was watching so we found all your baseball stuff and did you know that-”

“How much candy have you had today, huh?” The professor teases, ruffling her hair. Lacey cuts off her tirade with a beaming smile. 

“Just a little.”

“Uh huh, sure. Okay,” he laughs, and behind her Jack mouths ‘ _ way _ too much.’

It’s been three years since the adoption, but it feels like they’ve been a family forever. He feels a warm glow in his chest whenever he thinks about it. 

“Oh hey, you’re home!” Another voice joins them. He turns his head to see Billy, their eldest, stood in the doorway. The sight of him, or at least what he’s wearing, is a little jarring. “Can I have this?”

He leans on the doorframe, seventeen-years-old and the spitting image of 1986 in an oversized jacket decorated in a collection of fading pins. The worn blue denim and fraying cuffs throw the professor back in time, just for a second, and then he smiles.

“Where’d you find that?”

“With the rest of the shit in the attic. Didn’t realise you actually owned anything this cool, dad says you used to wear it all the time.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh but still gives a half-hearted admonishment. “Language.”

“Right, sorry. With the rest of the stuff in the attic. So can I?”

“Sure, but you might want to give it a wash. It’s been up there forever.”

“Sick, thanks,” and with that, Billy disappears off to his bedroom. Lacey and Jack trail after him, Lacey launching into yet another monologue.

From the kitchen, he hears the sound of pots clanging and lets his ever-dopey smile grow wider as he wanders towards the sound. It’s a familiar every-day sight that greets him, and yet it’s one he thinks he’ll probably never get used to, his husband standing over the stove poking at something in a pan. The sun filters into the kitchen, casting a golden hue across it, and something inside of him settles. He pads over to him, winds his arms around his waist, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“How was work?” His husband smiles.

“Long,” he sighs. “But nice. One of my students had my book.”

“Oh?” He twists in the professors’ arms and smiles. “What did they think?”

“They liked it. Asked me to sign it.”

“Ten years on and you’re still being asked for autographs,” he teases. 

“What can I say, I’m a real celebrity,” the professor jokes, earning himself a fond eye-roll.

A gentle press of their lips together and they melt into one another’s hold.

“I missed you today too,” his husband says after a moment. “Did you see Billy’s found your jacket?”

He hums in confirmation. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been eaten by moths at this point. I thought I’d thrown it out.”

There’s a guilty silence and he pulls back.

“I did throw it out, didn’t I?”

“I saved it because I thought, well, you know… I just thought maybe you’d regret it. It was important to you, after all. You’re not mad, are you?”

A long time ago, when he was still learning to let go of the past without forgetting it entirely, he might’ve been angry. But now he thinks of the way the sleeves are a little too long on Billy, the pleased look on the face of his son, the admiration on the faces of his students, a new copy of a book he wrote long ago, and just thinks;  _ ‘I’m free’ _ .

“No,” he says. “I’m not mad. It’s nice for the kids to have stuff to inherit.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause I also saved all your old artwork and I’m having it framed.”

He snorts, would never expect anything less from the man he loves, and leans down for another kiss. When they break apart this time his husband leans his forehead against his and breathes, “I love you, TJ.”

“I love you too, Cyrus.”

And he knows he’s home.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! It's finally done! Five months of work and it's FINISHED. Just wanted to say a big thanks to everyone who's read along and encouraged me to keep going. I couldn't have done it without you. Love you all.


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